


weird friends, weird peers (we don't even live here)

by RavensandWritingDesks2714



Series: M9 Meet-Weird [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (as clutch against Ancient Green Dragons as it may be), AU headcanons of Caleb Widowgast's Backstory to fit this narrative I'm telling, Abuse, Allura Vysoren - Freeform, Angst With A Mostly Happy Ending, Asexual Caduceus Clay, Asexual Fjord, Canon Genderfluid Character(s), Casual Displays of Affection, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Feeblemind as a Drug, Feeblemind is a cruel spell guys seriously look it up, Gen, I'm doing it again, I'm not typing out all the characters but everyone is in this thing in some way I promise, I've said this before but, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Neurodivergent Beauregard Lionett, Neurodivergent Caleb Widowgast, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nott is a sleepwalker, Other, Panic Attacks, Poly Nein is Best Nein, Sort Of, Stream of Consciousness, That's right, The 'we all live together' trope, The hurt and comfort is strong with this one, This exists in the same universe as the M9 Meet-Weird AU, Working out Polyamorous Relationships, aggressive cuddling, also 'and there was only ONE BED', and they were ROOMMATES, descriptions of scars, featuring Thoreau Lionett's A+ Parenting, is it possible to dual major in art and medicine?, more hills to die on, vague descriptions of medicine, whatever Jester is doing it anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavensandWritingDesks2714/pseuds/RavensandWritingDesks2714
Summary: The Mighty Nein are working out this whole 'family' thing and mostly succeeding with cramming into Fjord's shitty, one-bedroom apartment.What could possibly go wrong?-The interludes from 'could be weird (but i think i'm into it)' will be going here in the future, and I'm transitioning the current interludes over as well.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & The Mighty Nein, Dairon & Beauregard Lionett, Fjord/Jester Lavoree/Caduceus Clay/Beauregard Lionett, Fjord/Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre & Beauregard Lionett, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Series: M9 Meet-Weird [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771675
Comments: 5
Kudos: 100





	1. i'll lose my mind at least another thousand times (hold my hand tight, we'll make it another night)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, this just came to me. I've always felt that Feeblemind was a really cruel spell, and that the severity/implications/effects of it weren't really considered enough in terms of its use. In figuring out how it might fit into a Modern AU setting, I thought "what if it were a drug?" and things snowballed from there. 
> 
> Mild content warnings for a character being drugged, implied child abuse, and implied sexual content. Nothing explicit, but better safe than sorry! 
> 
> \- Raven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still get a little scared of something new  
> But I feel a little safer when I'm with you  
> Falling doesn't feel so bad when I know you're falling with me too

Fjord’s apartment is small. He’d always know it, but somehow it hadn’t mattered. But then again, he hadn’t tried to cram all seven of his friends into the one space before. It’s tight (cue snickering from Jester here) but even then, they manage and make it work and the smallness of the space doesn’t matter when they’re all together, filling it with life.

But then again, he hadn’t tried caring for a drugged friend before.

The fact that it’s Beau alone, of all of them, is shitty. The timing is what makes it just icing on the shit toilet cake.

It had only been maybe two weeks after she’d been kicked out of her dad’s house. She’d more or less become a permanent resident at Fjord’s after that, and with the way the group sort of just clung to each other and revolved around each other so closely, it shouldn’t have come as a shock to anyone when the others started coming around more often. That wasn’t even factoring in that Fjord, Jester and Caduceus had more or less settled into a comfortable little triad amongst themselves (or the fact that Jester seemed to be leaning towards pulling Beau in, as well, never mind that Beau had her own little dance-around with Yasha and vice versa and—)

Well. Suffice to say, Fjord’s shitty ass one bedroom was _not_ going to cut it.

Which is why the drugging, when it comes, is just superb.

Fjord doesn’t know who exactly finds her, only that it’s Caleb and Jester who bring Beau in. They’re both pale, and even as they ease Beau onto the couch Fjord can tell there is something _off_. Beau, for all her color, is lacking in it, just a bit. Her bright blue eyes seem too bright, unfocused and unseeing as she shrinks into the couch the moment she is set down. There are rough traces of bruises along her arms, in the exact and deliberate pattern of hands and fingers, and that alone has Fjord rising in anger and then Jester chokes out:

“I think she was drugged.”

And the anger is replaced with fear.

“What?” he says. He’s sure he must look dumb with his disbelief, his incomprehension. It’s just…so foreign a thought.

“I don’t,” Jester continues, then stops, glancing tearfully towards Beau. “I don’t think she recognized us when we found her. She wouldn’t…she wouldn’t come with us. We had to practically drag her here and…Fjord!”

She bites off with a sharp sob, and Fjord opens his arms for her to step into. She does, and he holds her tight as she continues to shake with sobs, as Beau continues to shake on the couch, and as Caleb starts to rock, ever so slightly, on the arm of the sofa.

“C-Caleb?” Fjord calls gently.

“I know this drug,” Caleb says slowly, each word enunciated carefully. His voice is low and dark, and his face twisted sharply with disgust and also a deep fear. “It is a nasty thing…cruel, really.”

“Cay-leb…” Jester whimpers from Fjord’s shoulder.

“What does it _do_?” Fjord insists, eyeing Beau, who jerks at the sound of his voice and attempts to burrow deeper into the couch with a low keen.

“It…it strips away all sense of self and comprehension,” Caleb says, voice still dark and eyes far away. “You cannot recall who you are…some can recognize friends and foes but for others it is hard to differentiate. There is an official medical name for it, but colloquially it is known as ‘feeblemind.’”

“What,” Jester tries, like she doesn’t really want to know the answer. “What would something like that…why would somebody _do_ that?”

“Compliance,” Caleb answers bluntly. “Usually it is used by medical professionals in small doses to ease the behavior of violent or dangerous patients. Or in prisons or…similar facilities. On the streets— in the wrong hands, however.”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

Jester lets out another high sob, and Beau flinches hard, eyes still unfocused and darting desperately around the tiny space without seeming to truly see it. Fjord would very much like to kill someone, specifically the someone or ones who did this. But he has no way of doing that, no way of even knowing who or why or when or….plus there’s the fact that Caleb talks like he has _experience_ with this drug and… **fuck** he needs to sit. He pulls carefully away from Jester and sits heavily in the ragged armchair in the opposite corner. 

“Is there…I don’t know an antidote or somethin’?” he forces out through his rapidly closing throat. “Some way to get it out of her system?”

Caleb grins with no humor, and it is terrifying to see such a parody of joy on his face in this moment.

“ _Nein_ ,” he whispers, and his voice is hoarse. “There are a rare few who have the medical skill necessary but they are hard to come by and far beyond our means of finding, let alone affording. It must work its course.”

“And how fuckin long is _that_ , Caleb?”

He’s too angry. He shouldn’t snap like that but…but…Caleb is making that haunted face again and Beau is shaking even harder on the couch at the sound of his anger and Fjord’s never felt so powerless.

“Full course…it is not really known,” Caleb says, so quiet Fjord can barely hear. “Some say that there are those who can recover faster than others, but even then. The earliest that is speculated is thirty days.”

* * *

The entire group is called, and Fjord’s apartment is way too small for this but damn if they’re going to make it work because _fuck_.

Caleb researches at the library during the day, consulting with Dairon and attempting to be vague because the last thing any of them want is a furious Dairon coming after them for letting something like this happen to her mentoree. Fjord stops going to classes and receives several notices and concerned mail from his teachers within the first week. Yasha…Yasha has always bounced in and out but for once she is still, if antsy. Jester and Cad, both medical students, though in different fields and end goals, start the process of finding out what is necessary for an antidote and what locating someone with the skill set to reverse this entails.

The first day is spent trying to figure out this side of Beau, and trying to get her to figure them out.

It is…so _hard_. (No snickering from Jester here.)

They discover so much more about Beau in this than they ever had from anything she might have actually told them otherwise.

The first night, after everyone had arrived and Beau had made it clear that just the _sound_ of Cad or Fjord’s voices was enough to set her whining in fear, it’s Molly who breaks through.

So Molly sits up with her the first night and just talks, chattering away in his lilting, shifting brogue about his and Yasha’s time with the circus.

In the morning, it’s Cad with a mug of Beau’s favorite tea. She doesn’t drink it, but once the warm mug is placed in her hands she curls around it on the couch and for the time since the night before she looks almost peaceful.

It’s Caleb and Frumpkin the next afternoon. Mostly Frumpkin, who curls up on Beau’s chest and purrs, and Beau butts her head against his and chuffs back softly. Then Caleb cracks open his book of Zemnian fairytales and reads to them both until dinnertime.

Dinner is…rough. They manage to get Beau to eat, at least, but with all of them crowded between the kitchen and the living room she’s just so antsy that when Yasha tries to sit next to Beau she has to dodge the younger woman’s fists.

Fjord volunteers to stay up with her that second night, and there is hesitation. Not for Fjord, not really. But Beau still hasn’t quite figured out that there is more to Fjord and Cad than just their deeper voices and Fjord knows the group is just trying to avoid him getting hurt. He’s already hurting enough, though, so he really thinks it’s not going to matter much.

He sits on the couch next to Beau and she’s wary but not fleeing from him, so it’s a start. He mentally pleads with her not to kill him if he’s wrong in his assumption, and gently shifts his arm around and grips the back of Beau’s neck. She flinches hard when his hand comes at her however, reeling back with a cry, and so at first he grips wrong and for a second there is just panic and also pain as she socks him hard in the side; but then he adjusts his grip and she freezes.

“Beau?” Fjord whispers, gently.

She lets out a ragged sob and melts into him, and it takes everything Fjord had not to cry with her. The rest of the group finds them curled up on the couch in the morning, Beau so intertwined with Fjord it is near impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends.

They learn that Beau is much better about touch in this state than she would have ever allowed before. But it’s specific; Fjord has to touch her before he can speak to her. He’d tried talking to Beau first, to give her a heads up that it was him and that he was going to touch her, but when he does that she’ll flinch from him like his intent is much different, and so then they start a list. At first it’s a list of ok’s and not ok’s, but then sort of turns into a catch all for triggers and clues about Beau’s past and what her experiences before them was like. For all that Beau was reluctant to discuss it with words before, she is all but an open book now.

Touch is ok, but if Fjord wants to touch Beau at all he has to be touching her _before_ he talks.

Cad can only talk to her if Beau is holding her tea first, because it is much harder for her to punch him when she’s holding a hot mug in her hands.

Also _where_ she’s touched is important, they learn.

Fjord is so used to, well, maybe not any overt affections from Beau. But even before, there would be no hesitation at his offerings of touch and at times, if he was lucky, maybe even cuddling. Now, though, she shies away if he clasps her shoulder or attempts to rub her back. Although she will still melt all too easily if he grips the back of her neck, but even then, it’s hit or miss if she’s too high strung with everything else to let him.

There don’t seem to be any restrictions for Jester or Nott or even Caleb, now, but sometimes Molly will move too fast too close and she’ll flinch openly.

Yasha flits in and out of the house, too anxious and worried to stay for long. But there are no restrictions for her except to be careful how or where she touches Beau. _If_ she touches Beau. (They’re still working on Yasha’s reservations ever since the church.)

Jester and Cad find someone who can maybe fix Beau sometime during the second week. They’ve fallen into some kind of a normal by that point, if only Beau’s silence was still so unusual. The only thing is, this person is all the way in Tal’dorei, and there is no guarantee that they’ll be able to get to them, let alone to help. But it’s more of a lead than they’d had before, and so then they set about trying to find some way to contact this person and get them here.

Beau recognizes all of them, now, and doesn’t flinch at all when Fjord or any of the others with lower voices talk. She seeks out affection and contact more, curling up with any and all of them at any point she can, as if she needs reassurance that they are all still there. They discover more scars, too, if only because once Beau loses her reservation about touch, they work on getting her into fresh clothes more often. And it’s not that none of them have scars, or that they didn’t know that Beau had scars or that there was any issue with a lack of clothing amongst them. (Molly had cured them all of that right quick, even before they’d all wordlessly and unanimously moved into Fjord’s.)

But it’s that they didn’t quite know the nature of Beau’s scars that concerns them, and the fact that she has more than they would have expected.

There’s the one across her abdomen from where Yasha had nearly gutted her when she’d been under Obann’s influence and not herself. That one they all knew about. And there are a few along her arms that Fjord and Jester, at least, knew about from that one really bad night before she’d been kicked out. But there’s a thin line near her left wrist; and several faded, barely visible except if you were close enough or looking across her lower back; and one thin, long one across her shoulder that are new to them.

* * *

Molly tries balancing wine glasses in the kitchen one night. It goes surprisingly well, for all that he’s been out of practice and that the glasses are full of wine. He manages three glasses with little trouble, but it’s when he tries adding a fourth that it goes to shit. The glasses fall and shatter to the kitchen floor and wine goes everywhere. Mostly on Molly, but the mirth from the disaster is cut short by the high and desperate cry from Beau. They turn to find her pressed against the kitchen wall, eyes wide with fear and one hand gripping her left shoulder protectively.

The sound of breaking glass goes onto the list, along with the answer to one of the scars.

It takes maybe a few more nerve-wracking days, but they settle. Yasha flits in and out but stays for much longer stretches than she used to, until she’s almost a permanent fixture. Fjord goes back to class, and Molly and Caleb tentatively go back to work at the diner. Jester, Nott and Cad stay with Beau during the day, and they all come home at night and fill Fjord’s apartment with life again.

Except his apartment is still small, and all of this with Beau seems to fill it that much more with an unbearable tension. It’s no surprise then, when the tension finally snaps, though perhaps not in a way to be expected. (But since when have any of them done the _expected_ thing?)

It starts with Molly and Caleb falling into bed together.

The sleeping arrangements, when they’re all in Fjord’s apartment at once, go something like: Beau and Fjord on the couch; Jester on a squishy air mattress on the living room floor beside them (Sometimes it’s Jester and Beau on the couch and Fjord on the mattress.) Cad joins whoever is on the floor with a sleeping bag, and sometimes Frumpkin will join Cad and then it’s _really_ a party. Caleb, Molly, Nott and Yasha will share the bedroom, although sometimes Fjord has woken to find Nott curled up by the stove in the kitchen, neither of them with any clue as to how or when she’d gotten there.

But on _that_ night, Molly tugs Caleb up the stairs when the call for bed comes, and there is a particular _look_ on Molly’s face that dissuades from the usual arrangements. They make it work…barely. Blankets and pillow forts courtesy of Jester are set up and a small extension consisting of additional cushions is made up on the couch, so that Fjord, Jester and Beau can all tangle together properly, for once.

Yasha and Cad and Nott take the sleeping bags and pillow forts on the living room floor, and Jester had made up an extra small fort near the stove for Nott on the chance she wound up there in the night.

The thing is, however, that Fjord’s apartment is _small,_ and decidedly not soundproof.

When Caleb and Molly come down to all of them in the morning, Jester makes a face and starts laughing immediately, and Caleb goes bright red and hides in his over-large sweater and Molly looks so pleased it should be illegal. Yasha murmurs a soft congratulations that sets off Jester again, and Cad blinks sluggish confusion into his tea mug. (He’d snored the whole night through, the bastard.)

But it doesn’t stop with Caleb and Molly, and it doesn’t take too long for an odd rotation of bedroom, living room, sofa, pillow forts to take root. It is, Fjord discovers, hard to dance around with figuring out relationships and feelings once you’ve been in bed with someone. Hard to dance around in that, everything is suddenly laid out all at once and so he can no longer hide behind societal niceties and waiting it out. Not that…well. Not that he really falls into bed in the same sense. But he and Jester do make their rotation through Fjord’s bedroom at least once, and while not much comes of it except a decent night of sleep for once, the casual closeness and gentle intimacy (albeit with slightly less clothes) is something Fjord could get used to.

The next week, however, marked twenty days since the start of all of this, with no change or improvement in Beau. Well, not entirely true. She no longer shies from any of them, and instead of flinching at the sounds of their voices she actively seems to seek them out when she hears Fjord or Caleb or Cad speak. Also, after the initial buzz of sleeping together wears off, the pillow-built addition to the couch (and the subsequent arrangement of Fjord, Jester, and Beau on it together) stays. Jester and Fjord both know that a conversation is in order, but for now, this simple intimacy is nice.

And then there is a breakthrough.

They make contact with the woman from Tal’dorei who can help. She arrives by the end of the following week, just shy of the thirty day mark that Caleb had said some few people had shaken from the effects. They collectively gather together every scrap of change they’ve been saving, but the woman takes one look at their paltry offering and scowls. For a moment, Fjord feels a lurch of terror; that it’s too little…that she won’t help them for so little…that she’s looking at all of their threadbare riches and _judging them_.

But then he realizes the scowl is not disapproval or judgement. That it is sympathy and understanding and genuine care, and that her denial of the payment, when it comes, is because she _wants_ to help them. It is…a foreign concept. But this Allura from Tal’dorei is, to be fair, foreign by default. And, as it turned out, very experienced with their situation as she herself had once been feebleminded as well. Her wife, she tells them, had been the one to help shake her from the drug’s effects. (And had also murdered the one who’d done it to her, along with the aid of a troupe of friends who, apparently, they all reminded Allura of.)

When they tell her how long Beau had been under the effects, she hisses what sounds like a curse in a language Fjord doesn’t quite understand. But she rolls up her sleeves and gets to work, instructing Caduceus and Jester along the way after discovering their path of study.

“I must warn you,” Allura says, voice soft but intent as they work. “The release from the drug’s effect is not the part that is going to be hard.”

“What…what do you mean?” Fjord presses, and she pauses a moment to correct the way Jester is holding a syringe she’d been handed.

“Losing all sense of self, for any length of time, is difficult. Painful,” Allura explains.

Beau hisses sharply through her teeth as if to corroborate her statement, and then sags slightly on the couch. Jester catches her immediately, and at the same moment, Fjord, Yasha and Caleb fly to their feet. Even Caduceus gives Allura a keen stare, and Molly hovers like a shadow of silent wrath at the woman’s shoulder.

“What,” Fjord says slowly. Dangerously. “Did you just do?”

Allura raises an appeasing hand, even as her eyes flicker about to meet all of theirs with a similar intense focus.

“Sleep,” she promises gently. “It’s easier that way.”

None of them settle back down, and Allura smiles softly, amused.

“Yes,” she says quietly, almost to herself if there weren’t so many of them poised too close to her. “Just like them.”

“Um…Miss….?”

“Allura is just fine,” she says in response to Jester’s prodding.

“Allura,” Jester repeats, chewing at her lip. “What do you mean, ‘not the hard part’?”

Allura sighs softly and for a moment, she seems aged and worn in a way that belies, well…she can’t be much older than fifty, really. But it’s as if she’s seen far beyond anything they could ever hope or dread to comprehend in that amount of time.

“As I said…losing oneself is painful. Coming back from that— piecing yourself together again. It’s not an easy process.”

They all exchange looks amongst themselves at that, but if anything, it’s just to further affirm their commitment to this. To _Beau_. They’d do whatever it takes.

“But something tells me she’s in good hands,” Allura murmurs.

They all wait together after Allura shows Cad how to fill and administer the antidote, and it’s less than half an hour when Beau blinks suddenly and stirs, and then rasps out:

“What the _fuck_?”

Her voice is cracking and ragged but it’s so great to just _hear her voice_ , that for a moment they’re all caught up in the joy of it. But when they all start forward, joyful, relieved and definitely crying at least a little, she bolts from the couch. Locks herself in the bedroom, by the sound of it. Allura sighs, then smiles a gentle, grim smile and wishes them well and good luck and leaves her personal contact info which guarantees there are no hang ups with contacting her in the future.

And so Fjord’s apartment seems to get…smaller.

They agree that space is in order, but they all remain close and hover and revolve in and out per the usual. But now it is just Fjord and Jester and Beau as a staple in the apartment, and somehow it so much more crowded now that it’s just them. Beau doesn’t come down for dinner, but as it grows later and darker, she does drift cautiously and with a few starts and stops, down the stairs. Without a word, they all settle on the couch together, and Fjord tucks up against the back of the couch, and Jester on the opposite side on the pillow-extension and Beau squeezed in between them both.

Fjord traces soft circles along Beau’s spine and just revels in the closeness, and for a brief moment he can pretend it’s almost peaceful.

“I’m sorry,” Beau whispers into the silence, voice breaking partway through. “For…making you guys go through…all of that.”

“Wh—Beau!” Jester shifts into a more upright position to better frown down at Beau, who stiffens under Fjord’s hands.

“We’d have done it all again if we had to,” Fjord says lowly, curling his fingers to rub gently at Beau’s back with his knuckles until she relaxes again.

“What, did you think we were just going to _leave_ you like that?” Jester continues, hissing her outrage in a whisper.

Fjord can’t see it, but he feels it when Beau flinches, ever so slightly, before going still again.

“You’re not gonna lose us that easily,” he says, as evenly as he can manage with his own emotions threatening to clog his throat. “You’re….you’re ours, Beau. You’re a part of us and our group and we’re yours just the same and we…we care about you.”

He tries to put as much sincerity into his hands as he does his words, hopes that she can read through what he does say as much as what he doesn’t…what he can’t quite wrap his mouth around but which his heart feels all the same. Jester buries Beau in a tight hug, pulling her just enough to her that Fjord’s hands fall to the couch. There’s a choked, stuttering sound that breaks into the unmistakable sound of sobs, and Fjord shuffles closer and wraps his arms around the both of them as far as he can reach and just…doesn’t let go.

* * *

The hard part isn’t the come down from the drug, Allura is right.

That, at least, Beau mostly sleeps off, though not without either Fjord or Jester in close proximity. They don’t much move from the couch for the first couple days, except for necessity, and though Beau has drifted in and out of speechlessness, the need for touch doesn’t quite go away. Neither Fjord nor Jester feel at all put out by it, if anything it just helps to solidify their closeness. And sure, there are conversations that need to happen but for right now, this…this Fjord can do.

Except…the hard part.

It’s most clear when Beau is either right on the verge of waking up or falling asleep. A sort of listlessness to her eyes that stutter-jolts into panic before she settles back into full awareness. She seems to thrum with a constant, relentless kind of energy, but when Fjord suggests a week into it that they spar in the cemented off back yard, Beau looks at him blankly.

(That then sets off a particularly bad panic attack and a vigorous cuddle session on the couch.)

* * *

Dairon is called, because it has been well over a month now at this point and she was starting to make _threats_.

Beau, when she sees her, hesitates for all of two seconds before wrapping the other woman in a hug. Dairon starts, then reciprocates, and the look she gives Fjord over Beau’s shoulder has him fearing for his safety.

“Explain. Now,” she says, once Jester has encouraged Beau into the kitchen to help make some kind of snack.

“’bout a month ago,” Fjord says. “Caleb and Jester brought Beau in…said someone had drugged her.”

Dairon stiffens sharply and Fjord takes an involuntary step back as she bares her teeth, furious.

“And why was I not summoned immediately? Why am I only being told about this now?”

 _Because we were afraid you were going to kill us_ , Fjord thinks, but does not say. Rightfully so, judging by the way Dairon looks like she wants to snap his neck. Probably could, too, honestly.

“It was…a misjudgment on our part,” he says instead, and Dairon scowls darkly.

“Obviously,” she says.

“Ah, well.” Fjord swallows uncomfortably, eyes darting away to where Jester was dancing around the kitchen. “We um…you’re here now, and we were hoping you’d be able to ah…help. With Beau.”

“Of course I will help,” she snaps, offense ringing in her tone. “What do you need?”

* * *

The first thing Dairon does, is teach Beau how to meditate. Or, re-teach.

“I don’t even understand…what is the purpose of this bullshit?” Beau snaps, on the first day.

Dairon smirks grimly and says, “You said that the first time, as well.”

Apparently, muscle memory really was a thing.

And, meditation isn’t as overrated as Beau (or Fjord) once thought. Dairon comes over every day for a week straight before she’s called away for a project, re-teaching Beau the basics of meditation and breathing and how to maneuver her body to its fullest ability.

(Fjord comes down one morning and finds Beau balancing one handed on the kitchen table, and he’s almost certain that’s _not_ what Dairon had meant.)

* * *

Beau comes back to herself in pieces.

(Some things, they all learn, don’t quite come back at all.)

Beau’s aversion to touch, for one. She’s much more prone to cuddling, or even simple, casual displays of affection. She doesn’t shy away when Fjord claps her on the shoulder, or Caduceus ruffles his fingers through her hair. She’ll aggressively wrestle Caleb into affectionate headlocks far more often (much to his chagrin), and doesn’t hesitate to curl up with Fjord on the couch when he’s binge watching Vox Machina.

She’s more open with them about how she’s feeling about a particular thing, less likely to hide her opinion for fear of being shut down. (There’d been more than one fierce debate between her and Mollymauk regarding characters in a movie or the various decisions of the fictional cartoon group.) She’ll point out flaws in Caleb’s research, too, poking at him until he makes the necessary changes.

For all that it was terrible while it was happening, Fjord can’t help but think he likes the more positive, lighter Beauregard they were seeing now. Not that he would have wished in any way for it to happen as a result of an attack like that; but still…watching Jester and Beau discuss the merits of blueberry cupcakes over chocolate, he can’t help but appreciate the way it brought them all that much closer together.

His apartment is still small, definitely.

But the family inside is huge, and that’s all that really matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devil Town- Cavetown


	2. you put your arms around me and i'm home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you see right through my walls  
> I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling  
> I'll never let a love get so close  
> You put your arms around me and I'm home

“I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.”

That’s the most Fjord gets out of Beau before she slumps into his apartment and goes quiet, hand gripping her elbows and boots kicking mud onto his already stained carpet.

“Uh, I mean,” Fjord chokes out carefully. “The drink I can do, but…uh. Jester’s more the ‘cuddle’ type than I am, really.”

Beau makes a low noise like a displeased cat, not quite looking at him as her mouth turns downwards sharply. Fjord sighs, and heads out into the kitchen to see what meager supply of alcohol he had left. When he comes back, Beau has already stripped of her hoodie and curled into the corner of the couch. She’s biting her lip and fidgeting with her hands like she does when she gets just a bit _too_ restless; the way he knows means most folks should steer clear lest they wanted to get hit.

He hands her the other bottle of cider and pretends not to see the judgmental glare she gives before taking it from him. He sits on the other cushion, making sure there’s enough space, just in case. Beau shoots him a look, however, and he sighs again, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Look, Beau—”

“Please,” she says, voice a low rasp. She’s not looking at him, and there’s a tension thrumming through her body that he doesn’t think he’s seen before. “Could you just….”

She gestures vaguely, and he takes her meaning and shuffles just a little closer. She doesn’t reciprocate, but doesn’t move away, either, until Fjord is just shy of meeting her leg with his own. She makes that same vague gesture, and he mimics it helplessly with his hands, uncertain. Beau huffs sharply and grimaces as she grabs the hand not holding his bottle and places it around the back of her neck.

“Ah,” Fjord says, understanding sinking in. It’s something he’d done maybe only once before, after a particularly bad Beau day. She’d let him do it then, and it’d seemed to help, but he hadn’t thought that meant he was free to simply touch her whenever.

He adjusts his grip carefully, and grips the back of Beau’s neck a bit more firmly. She all but melts into him, and he’s caught off guard because for all that physical contact didn’t seem to be either of their ‘things’ really, she doesn’t hesitate to press her forehead into his shoulder and wrap her arms around his to keep it in place.

“Oh. Sure. We…this is…fine.”

From the way her face is pressed into his shoulder, he can feel her smile, but she still clings tightly, and so Fjord carefully reaches for the T.V. remote and flips to some random channel. Cartoons pop up, one of those animated fantasy adventures of some group of heroes called Vox Machina, and he settles himself in for what is sure to be a tedious binge watch.

It’s almost an hour and half later when Beau stirs, and he wishes his T.V. had the capability to pause. As it is, he mutes the show right as the white-haired guy called Percy something-or-other has been about to reveal something about his family, and turns his attention to Beau.

“Ugh,” she groans, rolling her neck to look up at him from the odd angle. “Why didn’t you stop me from falling asleep on your shitty couch like this? I feel so betrayed.”

“Mornin’,” he chirps back instead, and indeed, when he looks it is actually just past midnight. “You’re the one who initiated the random cuddle at fuck o’clock, so uh, don’t pin this one on me.”

“Hm?” Beau says, squinting in the dim T.V. light. She seems to take stock of how they’re lying: with her tucked basically into Fjord’s chest as he’d shifted on the couch, his hand still gently gripping the back of her neck and her legs trying to figure out how to curl around his.

She sits up abruptly, and he can just make out the tinge of red coming into her face. He lets his hand drop from her neck and her shoulders hitch up towards her ears almost as if to replace the weight.

“Fuck,” she hisses. “Sorry, I know you don't really….”

“No, it’s all good,” he says. And, now that he’s thought about it, he thinks it kind of is. He supposes he can add cuddling to his platonic physical things he likes. Jester would be thrilled. “You uh, seemed to need it.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, rolling her neck again and letting the tension of her shoulders. “Just…”

He can see it all behind her eyes, the odd hollow emptiness that she got from time to time, usually whenever the mention of home was brought up. He wants to push, wants to pry past the wall she always puts up and just get her to talk to him about it, but he knows that force is the last way to get Beau to open up.

“Just…” she says again softly. “Bad…bad day of training, is all.”

“Hm,” Fjord says back, and he lets his attention drift over to the flickering T.V. “Yeah, I feel that. Well, if you need it, couch is here for you.”

Beau snorts and arches like a cat to stretch, hands extending up and far past her head. “Nah thanks, I gotta…wait. Is…is that Vox Machina!?”

He starts as she shuffles over him to grab the remote out of his hand and unmute it.

_“…just think that polymorphing into a dinosaur was a tad unnecessary, Scanlan.”_

“Ha, it is!” Beau says, delight evident on her face as he tucks her legs underneath her again. She’s also leaning a bit into Fjord’s shoulder, but he thinks it’s ok and he doesn’t need to worry about this contact.

“You uh…you watch this show?” he asks, brow lifting even if she can’t see it.

“My…yeah. Yeah, it’s kinda neat. For a kid’s show.”

Something in her voice had hardened again, but he decides not to push it. Instead, he reaches behind him and grabs the thinning blanket off the back and drapes it over himself and Beau, and turns up the volume on the T.V. And, of all the ways he’d thought he’d end his night, cuddling and drinks and cartoon Vox Machina is pretty decent option, in Fjord’s opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arms- Christina Perri


	3. she's broken but she's fun (sometimes it makes me laugh)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now my head is on backwards  
> And my feet at funny angles  
> And every time I take a step  
> We're moving forwards faster  
> And lately I can't take it

“Beauregard. Ah…do you think you could take me to the library with you. Next time you go?”

Beauregard gives him a dubious look, brow arching and lips pursed in that way she does when she’s skeptical about something and knows she has good reason to be. He does not want to admit that she is right. Or how much he enjoys drawing her when is like that….confident. In herself.

“You havin’ trouble finding the school library now, Caleb?” she says, voice pitching in her ‘I’m calling bullshit’ tone. “You need a guide, ‘zat it?”

“Ah, no,” he says carefully, fingers fidgeting softly at his sides. “It is just that…you know Dairon.”

If anything, her skeptic brow goes higher, and his hands fidget just a little harder.

“I do know Dairon,” she says, eyes tracking carefully over his face. “Everyone knows Dairon. It’s kinda their job….”

“You know what I mean,” Caleb huffs and glares pointedly at Beau. “You are…close with Dairon, _ja_.”

“I wouldn’t call us close,” Beau hedges, looking uncomfortable.

Ok but she knows what he _means_ and Caleb cannot figure out why she is baiting him like this. His hands flap just a little harder in his frustration, and Beau’s expression twists a bit sharper. She does that a lot when he stims, he notices. Her mouth will twist and her eyes will narrow ever so slightly. He’s tried drawing the expression to figure out what it means, but he still does not know. It is not quite anger, or at least, not ‘Beau’ angry. The closest he can get is maybe annoyed?

And he wonders how it is that she is annoyed with him when he has seen that she stims, too, although perhaps not in a way as obviously divergent as his. She’ll crack her knuckles, roll her shoulders, scratch at her undercut, clench and unclench her fists or shift her weight on the balls of her feet. Movement. Beauregard’s stims all revolved around movement, and could perhaps be disguised as something benign. Except he _has_ also seen her flap her hands a few times. And he wonders if she knows she even does it and…..

“You do know you stim, as well.”

Oh. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“What?”

Caleb ducks his head and takes a careful peek at her expression to gauge her reaction. She is…not angry. Confused? No but…there is something… at the edge of her eyes.

“I could not help but notice that you seem uncomfortable when I stim,” he points out bluntly. He’s started it, now. “And yet you also seem unaware that you do, as well.”

Beauregard’s shoulders go up as she crosses her arms, mouth twisting sharply in distaste.

“I do not.”

“You do,” Caleb argues back. Then he’s digging in his bag before he can think better of it, flipping through his notes until he can find the sketch he is looking for. It takes him a moment longer than he’d thought, because although he knows exactly what page he’d drawn it on, there a multitude of drawings of dicks in the margins that he knows he had not done.

He finds the drawing, nonetheless, and flips his sketchbook around to show her. It’s one he’d done on the bus, hasty lines and smudges. Nothing refined. Just three simple sketches of Beau, a progression sort of piece he’d been trying to get the hang of, and he’d added arrows around the edges to show the lines of movement. But it is Beauregard, holding onto the hanging loop in the aisle of the bus, and the hand that had not been holding the strap had been flapping idly at her side. He doesn’t really know why he’d felt the urge to draw it, although he’s glad now because. Well. He is not wrong.

“The hell, man?” Beau snaps, making as if to rip the page from the book. He jerks back sharply before she can, and she scowls, eyes bright. “What are you trying to blackmail me or something? Is that what we do now?”

“No, I was merely…I just wanted to go to the library,” Caleb says. “I did not mean to er…start. anything.”

“Yeah.” Beau scoffs, lip curling sharp now with disdain. “Sure.”

They lapse into a silence, and Caleb hates that he can feel it prickle against his skin like…like needles.

“It is not…there is nothing wrong with it, you know,” he says quietly, rubbing at the crook of his elbow.

“I didn’t say there was,” Beau snaps, not looking at him.

“Only that, I noticed you make a face when I do,” he points out, and she scowls, and her shoulders hitch higher.

“People make faces,” she says vaguely. “I make faces. So what.”

“Only that, I notice you _specifically_ make a face when I do, and so now I am just curious to know if you realize that, and also that you stim as well, sometimes, and that there is nothing wrong with it.”

He hadn’t meant to ramble, but it’s got her attention. Or, at least she is looking at him, even if her expression is closed off.

“Yeah, ok,” she mutters. “Sorry. I’ll stop making faces or whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

That is not the point he was trying to make. He knows that she knows it’s not, and he _hates_ that he can’t figure out how to say that without making her shut down.

“I uh…had a teacher once,” he tries. “He told me…well. Among many things, he told me that no one would ever take me seriously if I were flapping my hands about like an overeager child.”

Some of the tension eases out of Beau’s expression, though not entirely out of her posture.

“Sounds like a dick,” she says, and he tries for a laugh but it comes out strained.

“Yeah, well. He was many things, I suppose. Good for me at the time. He uh…helped me in many ways.”

(And harmed him in others. But the fault for that was on _Caleb_ , really. He’d been the one to—)

“Anyway,” he continues hastily, before his mind can get too into dangerous territory. “He was not very fond of my stimming and sought to remedy it, if he could. My mother and father, on the other hand were always understanding. Supporting and encouraging me through everything. I don’t think much of anything that I did surprised them.”

(Well. Until he’d—)

Beauregard makes a soft noise, and he focuses in on her to keep out of his head.

“I was always a bit much to handle for my parents,” she says, and her voice is soft and raspy in that way it gets when she’s feeling very strongly about something. “They were never really the uh…touchy feely type and my dad especially he— I think when they got the diagnosis, officially, ya know. It sort of just…confirmed their suspicions.”

“I get the sense they were not very supportive,” he offers, and she chuckles sharply.

“Nah, they were….they did the best they could with what they had. They were um. Worried, I think. About my capabilities….If I was….”

“If you were putting out the right image of what they wanted you to be,” he finishes, and she laughs again, that odd sharp sound.

“No, it wasn’t…they wanted the best for me,” she says quickly. And he understands. He had thought that Trent had wanted the best for him, too.

“Well,” he says carefully. “For what it is worth, I think you are….incredible.”

Beau snorts, and it’s a much better Beau laugh than the sharp, pained noises she’d made before.

“Thanks, Caleb,” she says, then shoves him before he can compensate. He trips, and then her hand is around his wrist propping him until he gets his feet back.

“Ok,” he says, but he’s grinning, just a little. “I suppose you are not taking me to the library, then.”

“Come on,” she says, pulling him further upright and along. “If we go now, we can get there before Dairon tidies up the Archive.”

Well that sounded promising.

“Hey Caleb,” Beau says as they walk, arms not quite linked but close enough. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 Episode 3- Glass Animals


	4. can't be too careful anymore (you've got reach a little more)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shifting your weight to throw off the pain  
> Well, you can ignore it  
> But only for so long

Fjord had been expecting a quiet night. He’d had a great dinner of some sort of stir fry that Caduceus had brought him, and despite the questionable inclusion of tofu, it had actually been quite delicious. Then he’d talked to Jester for a bit when she had a break from shadowing in the pediatric wing at a hospital, and while he didn’t condone her sleep deprived activities to keep the kids cheerful, it was a little funny to hear her tell about how she’d switched all the doctors’ stethoscopes and made balloon-dicks out of the gloves.

All in all, it was a nice, lazy evening. He was curled up on his couch now, reading through a manual on his tablet about the proper care of roses. He hadn’t thought it was quite so complicated— just plant in dirt and water, right? But apparently, roses were a picky sort of plant, and there were _rules_ to make sure they thrived. So he was reading his digital rose-keeping manual and taking notes, because he was hoping to surprise Caduceus by planting some rose bushes outside of the diner, since the other boy often noted the lack of anything cheery growing outside the restaurant. (Not that Fjord would admit that _that_ was the reason he was doing it.)

He’s relaxed, and settled, and comfortable, and any other number of peaceful synonyms. And it’s altogether discomforting when he hears a soft scraping tap at his door, as if whoever is on the other side couldn’t quite bring themselves to knock. The soft tap is almost more annoying than if it _had_ been an actual knock, but then an actual knock does come; two raps in quick succession.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” Fjord calls, heaving himself up from the couch with a sigh.

He chances a glance at the clock on his way to the door, and sees that it’s not even ten yet. He’s at the door when the soft scratch-tap comes again, and he yanks it open a bit harder than what was necessary.

“Yeah, what?” he snaps, then catches himself. “Oh. Beau?”

Beau, who had recoiled from his initial outburst, straightens again on the doorstep in the hallway. She’s in what looks to be either pajamas or street clothes; a ragged pair of baggy grey sweatpants and an oversized, long sleeved olive shirt that hangs slightly on the edge of her shoulders. It’s the sleeves that catch him first, then the quiet. Beau would normally be shoving her way into his apartment by now, chattering up a storm and complaining about his shitty tastes in alcohol but demanding some all the same.

He doesn’t quite know how the idea of that had even started in the first place; Beau hanging out or staying at his overnight. He thinks maybe it was because of Jester, and how she had mentioned that sometimes if she stayed out too late, Beau’s parents would lock her out of the house. They hadn’t pried too much into it, though the gods only knew that they were curious. Beau’s home life was something that she had made quite clear to all of them, but especially to Jester and Fjord, that she was not going to talk about. And it was fine, he supposes. They could respect that, however much they worried.

Tonight, however, there is no chatter from Beau and no requests for Vox Machina in the guise of sarcastic insults. Tonight, there is Beau, quiet and drawn on his doorstep, feet shuffling and shoulders high and nervous, and it sends something cold coiling in Fjord’s gut.

“Hey,” he says, a bit gentler, soft as he grips the door with one hand, the other reaching for Beau. “You wanna come in?”

Nott always told him that he broadcast his movements too easily, and that was why he always lost when he got into fights. But this time however, Beau flinches hard enough to send her back on her heels and away from him, eyes squeezing tight shut as if…as if she thought he would hit her. The cold knot in his stomach tightens even further, and he waits until her eyes flicker open to try again, making a conscious effort to broadcast his intentions. He grips her shoulder, and she stiffens but doesn’t tug away, and he gently guides her forward, desperate to get her inside. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but this is no state for any of the neighbors to look out and find them in: Beau, trembling and silent, Fjord towering over her with his height and his hands. He’d like to avoid the police being called on him, if possible.

She steps over the threshold, and he shuts the door, and there’s something in the finality of the gentle click that makes Beau tense under his hand again. He clears his throat softly and wishes he could so easily clear the cold weight in his stomach.

“Let’s get you to the sofa, yeah?” he whispers.

It’s only when she’s sitting down that he realizes she’s barefooted.

“Beau,” he says carefully, noting the way she’s curled herself into the arm of the couch. “Where are your shoes?”

She blinks, then looks down to follow his gaze, seeming almost as surprised as he does at her lack of footwear. Her mouth works a few times with no sound, and then he notices the scrapes and bruises.

“Ok,” he says slowly. “I’ll be right back.”

He goes out into the kitchen and lets out a sharp breath and tries to stop his imagination from running wild with him but— _fuck_ this was a lot. This was a lot and he was in way over his head and he couldn’t fuck this up. Nevermind that he didn’t even know what _this_ was to fuck up. But he’s got someone that he cares about on his couch in a definite state, who trusted him enough to be there in the first place, and so he grabs his first aid kit from the cabinet and marches back into the room.

Beau looks up at the first aid kit in his hands, a skeptical look coming into her face even as she recoils further into the couch.

“For your feet,” he explains, at her look.

She nods but doesn't move, and he settles down on his knees and winces as he gets a closer look at what he’s working with. Her feet are scraped to hell, and there’s a particularly bad gash on the side of her left foot, like she’d stepped on something sharp. When he examines it, he can’t find anything still inside, to his relief, but the facts still point to his worry.

“Beau,” he says gently, as he wets some cloth with rubbing alcohol. “Did you…walk all the way here?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. She goes rigid when he touches the alcohol soaked rag to her feet, and he braces himself for her to start cursing at him- or punch him. Not a sound comes out of her mouth, however, and he risks a glance upward and sees her fingers buried in the plush of the couch, jaw clenched tight shut. He tries to move carefully, but even then he still presses just a little too hard at one point when wrapping up her feet. She jerks sharply, almost enough to tear her leg free from his hands, but even then he doesn’t hear anything from her. Then again, he was also apologizing a stream; if there had been any sound, he could very well have missed it.

“Beau?” he presses again, when her feet are bandaged and he leans back on his heels.

She works her mouth again silently, fingers still buried tightly in the cushion beneath her. Then:

“The…there wasn’t a bus,” she chokes out, like the words hurt to say. “No service…’s too late.”

“So you walked here?” he repeats, incredulous and afraid at the same time.

She shrugs a shoulder shakily, and he blows out another sharp breath that makes her stiffen again.

“Ok,” he says, and the syllables drag out a bit shorter than his usual affected drawl. “Are you…are hurt anywhere else? Beau?”

“Um,” she whispers hoarsely, not looking at him, shoulders high by her ears. “Yeah.”

He waits, trying to keep his posture steady, no pressure. Beau shifts on the couch, and winces as her back pulls away from the corner she’d curled into. She shuffles closer until she’s perched nearer the edge where Fjord is, and then carefully, she rolls up her sleeves.

Fjord doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. Not…not _this_ , definitely.

Several thin, bright red welts and darker, striping bruises cover Beau’s forearms, a couple welts deep enough to have split the skin. It’s deliberate, he knows immediately when he looks. There had been intent behind each and every one of those marks.

“Shit,” he breathes, and Beau winces and pulls her arms back, hands picking at the edge of her shirt.

“There’s—,” she says, then stops, eyes flicking up briefly to his. In that brief instant he catches fear and pain and _hurt_ , and he wants nothing more than to wrap Beau up and hide her away from everything that had caused that hurt to be there.

“More,” he finishes, dread building in his stomach. She nods stiffly and maneuvers sideways on the couch, shimmying her shirt up and over her head with a bit more wincing.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she hisses suddenly through her teeth, and then shoots him another look of that same fear but _deeper_.

It’s not, he knows immediately, the thought of being shirtless around him, or any reactions he might have in that regard.

It is the navy-dark tank binder that she is wearing.

“Fjord,” she says quickly, voice high and desperate with a plea.

He understands her terror, and hates that she has any reasoning for it. But she has nothing to fear from him, not for this. He knows many people who wear or have worn a binder— knows that they both do. But it’s a different thing he supposes, knowing someone who wears one, and _being_ someone who wears one.

“It’s alright,” he replies, just as quickly, trying to stave off as much of that panic as he can, trying to keep his voice even and light. “It’s ok, Beau. I don’t—it doesn’t bother me.”

Her face does a complicated flicker, impossible to read. “You don’t…you don’t…care?”

“I really don’t,” he assures. “I care that it’s something that makes you feel better about you, but that’s all.”

Some of that intense panic leeches out of her body at his words, and she nods, just a little. Then winces again as she remembers his original intention, and there’s another complicated shimmy as she gets her fingers under the edge of the stretchy material.

“Do…” Fjord starts, then hesitates. “Is it alright if I help?”

She makes a soft noise in her throat as she lowers her hands back to the couch. “’d be nice,” she mumbles.

And so he shuffles up onto the couch beside her and carefully follows her movements, slipping the edge of his fingers beneath the material, conscious of the way she’d winced when she’d done it before. She flinches ever so slightly as his knuckles brush her skin as he carefully pulls up, and she reaches a hand around to still him from going too far.

“You don’t have to...um….just to…..”

He sees what she means instantly, and carefully folds the edge of the stretchy part of the binder up and over the stiffer portion. Once he does that, he sits back and removes his hands, because suddenly he sees the mess of her back.

“Sweet Jesus,” he hisses, and Beau’s head bows forward, jaw clenching tight again.

Near identical to the ones on her arms, deep red welts litter the expanse of her lower back. Unlike the ones on her arms, there are many of these that seem deeper, the skin split and bruised in multiple places and it’s all just far too _deliberate_ and _intentional_ and Fjord thinks he’s going to be sick.

Instead, he rocks back a little further and sucks another steadying breath and says “Caduceus or Jester?”

“Wh-what?” Beau says, and he’s also aware and grateful for the fact that she was at least _talking_ now.

“This…this is a little more than me or my dollar store first aid kit are equipped to handle,” he says, and she stiffens. “So. Choice is yours. Am I callin’ Cad or Jester?”

“I hate you,” she deadpans, instead of answering, and he crosses his arms.

He’d meant is as an ‘I’ll wait,’ but she takes it differently judging by the way she flinches away, ducking her head. Fuck, this is the second time she’s done that and he desperately wants to know who or what had conditioned that response into her. Mostly because he wants to make them feel the same way, and mostly because he wants to make sure she never goes back to them.

“Jester,” Beau finally says, voice small.

“Ok,” Fjord says gently, and he risks an affectionate squeeze of Beau’s knee before getting up and going out into the kitchen to make the call.

 _“Fjord!”_ Jester shouts, when she picks up. “ _I was just about to call you! This nurse….”_

“Hey-hey-hey, Jester listen,” Fjord says, quickly cutting her off before she could regale him with her exploits traumatizing more medical professionals. “I uh…I’ve got Beau at my apartment right now and I could really use your help.”

 _“Ooh, Beau’s at your apartment?”_ Jester coos, and he can almost picture the look on her face as she says it. “ _Wait…my help? Is everything ok, Fjord?”_

“No. No it isn’t,” he admits, lowering his voice and stepping deeper into the kitchen. Not that he has any illusions as to the soundproofing abilities of his apartment. “She uh…someone…. I just need to you to come take a look, ok? And ah…be discreet about it?”

It’s a task to ask of Jester, he knows, but if anyone could get through to Jester it’s Beau. She huffs a frustrated noise through the phone, and there’s a short clicking noise like she’s stamping her foot.

“ _I’ll be there in ten minutes,”_ she promises, then hangs up.

The hospital is closer to twenty minutes away, but sure enough, Jester is there in ten. She doesn’t even bother knocking, just barges right in, and Fjord was almost certain he’d locked it when he’d let Beau in.

“Jester,” Fjord says lowly, warning creeping into his tone. “You did _not_ speed to get here.”

She fixes him with an equally sharp look and grins in the face of his admonishment.

“I also didn’t pick your lock,” she says, and he groans. “Hey Beau!” she continues brightly, ignoring him to step towards the couch. “Fjord says you’re hurt.”

Damn, so much for subtle. 

Beau shoots him an even sharper look than Jester’s, but it’s quickly overtaken by something sheepish as Jester starts poking at the bandages wrapping her feet. She’s pulled the sleeves back down over her arms, and the binder down over her back, and she seems to wither ever so slightly under the sheer force of Jester’s energy in this space all of a sudden, despite the fact that she'd asked him to call her.

“It’s nothing,” she tries, as Jester sets her bag down and frowns. “Really, he’s making a big deal….”

“Let me see,” Jester says, and it’s airy and bright and brokers no arguments.

“Mmmf,” Beau groans, but obliges, ducking her head and pulling her sleeves back up.

“You’re uh…you’re probably going to want to get that shirt off,” Fjord offers, and Beau cuts her eyes at him over Jester’s shoulder.

“Hmm,” Jester says, considering. “Ok, then Beau! Shirt off!”

Beau flushes, and Fjord would poke at her for that, too, but thinks it would be a little too unfair with Jester right there. Instead, he nods at Beau encouragingly, and she shrugs her way out of the shirt before freezing in her binder once more.

“Hmm,” Jester says again, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I’m guessing that’s going to have to come off, too?”

Beau’s eyes shoot to Fjord again, a sharp flicker of that tight fear on her face.

“I uh, I can step into the kitchen, if you need me to,” he offers. “Get you something to drink, Jes?”

“N-no, that’s not--,” Beau starts. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Ok Beau,” Jester says gently, easing her into the couch. “Alright, how about I look at your arms first and then we’ll go from there. Sound good?”

“Yeah, ok,” Beau grumbles, and Jester grins and turns to retrieve some things from her bag.

As she does, she fixes Fjord with a _look_ , and he knows her so well at this point that he can read it as clear as if she’d spoken the words into his head. 

_Are we talking about this?_

_No_ , he answers back in the quirk of his brow and the press of his lips. _Not yet._

 _Ok_. A waggle of her brows and she is focused again on Beau.

“This _might_ sting a little,” Jester warns, and Beau eyes flick up to her with only the slightest bit of wariness.

“Yeah, ok,” she says.

After a second of debate, Fjord crosses and sits on the couch beside Beau. It’s the right call, because seconds later she stiffens, the edge of her shoulder digging into his. He carefully shifts his arm around, and rubs gently at the upper half of her back between her shoulders. She flashes him a tight smile as Jester works, cleaning up the few bruises and cuts on her arms and wrapping them expertly, all while humming cheerfully under her breath and rattling off more stories about her adventure in pediatrics. (Those poor, poor nurses.)

She finishes in what feels like almost no time, with the amount of tension thrumming through all of them the way it is. She rocks back on her heels and stands to stretch, then flashes another bright grin at Beau as she carefully flexes her arms in the bandages.

“Those should stay on for at least a week,” Jester cautions, and Beau makes a sharp, sour face.

“Yeah that’s…not gonna happen,” she mutters.

Jester and Fjord exchange another quick look.

_Do you know who did this to her?_

_Wish I did._

“Four days,” Jester says to Beau, and now Fjord knows she’s actively gauging a reaction.

Beau shrinks a bit on the couch, and Fjord starts rubbing at her shoulders again.

“Two?” Jester pleads, brows furrowing with hope and concern.

Beau stops actively trying to be swallowed by Fjord’s furniture, and bites her lip.

“Ok,” Jester says with a relived smile. “Two days at least, then. Now. Is there any more?”

Beau glances sideways at Fjord, and he shuffles over enough that there’s space to maneuver. It takes a little more work, this time, as they're actually taking the binder off, and Beau works even harder to remain silent. Even with her attempts, there’s still a few sharp gasps of pain that Fjord feels as hot puffs of air on his arm as he helps lift the material over Beau’s head.

“Beau,” Jester says slowly, almost pouting but not quite. “Have you been wearing that all day?”

Beau freezes, and Fjord has no way of knowing how to help this time.

“Beau!” Jester cries, and Beau flinches back, arms curling up and over her chest. “That’s suuper not good for you!” Her accent combined with her outrage, only serve to further drag out the vowel sounds in her words.

“Yeah, well,” Beau mumbles sarcastically. “The alternative isn’t super good for me either.”

“Ok,” Jester says sharply, and it’s the only time Fjord thinks he’s seen her truly upset at Beau. “So. Your bandages stay on for at least two day, and when you bind _take breaks_! Four to six hours at most, Beau. And not every day.”

“Jes, what the fuck!?” Beau blurts, straightening on the couch. Fjord politely averts his gaze, but neither one of them seem to care, caught up in glaring at each other intently.

“I _mean_ _it,_ Beau,” Jester drawls out, frown deepening. “I’ve seen kids break ribs for less.”

“I’m not gonna break a fuckin’ rib!” Beau is almost shouting, and it’s such a marked change from the way she’d come into his apartment that Fjord nearly gets whiplash. “That’s why I bought this shit in the first place.”

“And that’s great,” Jester says slowly, not rising to meet Beau’s shout but certainly matching her tone. “Your body still needs breaks— you still need to _breathe,_ Beau. And— wait. Tell me you’re not doing your monk stuff in that.”

Beau shrinks again, ever so slightly, under the force of Jester’s renewed glare. Even _Fjord_ can feel the heat, and he didn’t even do anything.

“Only once,” she mutters. “Dairon gave me shit for it.”

“Good!” Jester humphs, and Beau scoffs but doesn’t meet her eyes.

“I swear,” she says. “The two of you…making such a fuss over nothing.”

“This—,” Fjord says, his thumb on Beau’s back just swiping the edge of one of the bruises. “Isn’t _nothing_ , Beau.”

“Let me see,” Jester demands, and Beau hesitates. “ _Beau_.”

She flinches, but turns -away from Fjord and deeper into the couch- but the end result is still the same. Now with no clothing or binder material in the way, Fjord can clearly see each and every imprint on Beau’s skin. A couple of the marks went higher than he’d initially thought, the very edge of one close to where he’d been rubbing Beau’s back. That she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even cried out, causes that cold ball to coil back in his stomach.

“Oh,” Jester sighs softly, her expression dropping, vitriol forgotten.

“It’s not that bad,” Beau says quickly. Fjord can see her grabbing at the couch again. “A one-off, really.”

Fjord glances to Jester over Beau’s back.

 _How bad is it really?_ he asks with a lift of his brow, a twitch of his cheek in a grimace.

 _Bad._ Jester answers, fire in her eyes even as sympathy floods her face at Beau’s words.

“Beau,” Fjord presses gently, and her eyes flicker but don’t quite meet his. “Has this happened before?”

“No,” she says sharply, but her voice trembles. “Like I said, it’s a one-off.”

“But this,” Fjord insists, fingers gentle between her shoulder blades. “Has _this_ happened before?”

Her shoulders shrug upwards beneath his hand, mouth twisting a sharp line of obvious distress.

“Beau.”

“I dunno…maybe,” she bites out, harsh and defensive.

“Ok, ok,” Jester says gently, eyes cutting to Fjord’s. “We don’t have to worry about that right now.” _Don’t push._

“Whatever,” Beau mutters, but her mouth still twists, her fingers curling further into the couch beneath her.

Jester pulls out a fresh pair of gloves, some more bandages and cloths, rubbing alcohol, a white jar of some kind of ointment, and a small camera. Fjord starts at that, but Beau doesn’t seem to register it.

“Beau,” Jester says, and there is a careful assuredness in her tone. “Do you mind if I take a picture of those?”

'Those,' being obvious enough, but Beau still blinks a bit, uncertain.

“What?”

“Just so I have a frame of reference as I work,” Jester says. “I should have taken some of your arms, too, but it didn’t occur to me until now.”

“Oh,” Beau says, and shrugs a shoulder again, the muscles rippling under Fjord’s fingers. “I guess. Sure.”

“Cool,” Jester says, and if Beau registers the short tone, she doesn’t mention it.

_Evidence?_

_Evidence._

Jester snaps two photos, then the camera disappears into her bag again. “Um, Fjord,” she says, and he realizes the problem before she finishes. “I’m going to need to sit there.”

“Yeah,” he stammers, already on his feet and moving. “Right, sorry I…right.”

Beau looks suddenly adrift and terrified again as Jester takes up Fjord’s spot; and the couch really wasn’t designed for this but he wasn’t about to just leave. Not for this. He shuffles over to the other side of the couch and sits as best he can on the arm that’s closer to the wall. It’s an awkward fit, but he manages, and he carefully places his hand back on Beau’s shoulders. She shrugs them, almost as if to roll his hand off, but he shifts with her and the end result is his hand is slightly higher, gripping the back of her neck. His palm rests neatly against the place where her neck meets her spine, and she almost seems to melt, the tension leeching from her body with a barely audible sigh.

(It’s almost a shame, then, that Jester starts when she does, sucking that tension back with a vengeance.)

Jester gives another warning before she starts, and this time, Beau does make a noise. It’s low, bitten off in her throat and her chest, and somehow it hurts worse to hear than if she’d screamed. Fjord takes her hand with his other one gently, rubbing his thumb softly against her wrist in what he hopes is a comforting manner. His thumb skips across a smooth, raised line near the joint, and he glances down to notice a thin scar. It’s old, and so faded he wouldn’t have noticed it if his thumb hadn’t just worried over it. He files it away, decides he doesn’t know if he _wants_ to know just yet.

Jester fills the tense silence with jokes and stories in the beginning, but as she reaches the section of Beau’s back where the bruising and cuts are the worst, she drifts back into soft seriousness— things like ‘this might sting’ and ‘I’m going to put my hand here, ok?’ Things that make that tight ball coil in Fjord’s gut, that causes Beau’s fingers to tighten around his, that low noise of pain building in the back of her throat but refusing to spill beyond her teeth.

Finally, after what feels like forever but knowing Jester’s efficiency was probably only five or ten minutes at most, it’s done. Beau is all wrapped up, and she tries to make a joke about something undead, but it falls short.

“Fjord,” Jester says, packing some things into her bag but leaving others out. “Could you help me clean some of these off?”

She motions to the things she’d left out; some odds and ends, instruments he definitely hadn’t seen her use.

“Sure,” he says, and gathers them up, following her out into the kitchen.

“What happened,” Jester says, all too solemn as the water runs. “Tell me everything.”

“Not much to tell, really,” he says, handing her the items one by one for her to wash. “Beau just…showed up little over an hour ago, all shaky and…fidgety and I just….”

“Fidgety?” Jester asks, and Fjord nods.

“Uh, yeah, kinda….” He demonstrates, hands twisting at the wrist in a tight, up and down motion.

“Oh, stimming!” Jester says, clarity wiping across her face. “Yah, Caleb told me about that…he says it’s a kind of comfort thing, you know?”

“Oh,” Fjord says, dumbly. He hadn’t known, at least in regards to Beau, but he supposes of all of them it would make the most sense for Caleb to know. “Well if it’s a comfort thing then—”

“Do you know who did this to her?” Jester cuts in before he can finish, voice tight suddenly with barely concealed anger.

“No,” Fjord sighs, wiping his hands on a dish rag, well used to her rapid changes of pace. “Like I said on the phone, I wish I did. I’d make sure they didn’t even _think_ about doing it again.”

“Hm,” Jester says softly, considering. “You’re letting her stay here tonight, right?”

“Of course,” Fjord says, without hesitation.

Jester nods and gathers her things, and they head back out into the living room. Beau had her shirt back on, but was scowling down at the binder in her hands, fingers twisting the fabric in nervous, bunchy circles.

“Beau,” Jester starts, sitting down on the coffee table.

“Don’t,” Beau interrupts, voice sharp despite the way she won’t look at either one of them.

“ _Beau_ ,” Jester says again, a soft whine in her tone as her shoulders slump.

“I told you,” she says, fingers still twisting the fabric of her binder. “It was a one-off.”

“So this hasn’t happened before?” Fjord challenges boldly. “It won’t happen again, if you leave- go back home?”

“I…,” Beau falters, and she still can’t meet his eyes, and he hates his sudden harshness, but he’s not about to let this go. Let her go.

“I don’t know,” Beau admits, barely above a whisper. That she doesn’t even seem to notice that she’d also admitted, however non-explicitly, that this _had_ been done to her at home, only adds to Fjord’s resolve.

“Ok,” Fjord says doggedly. “Ok, so then, here’s how this is going to work: you’re going to stay here tonight, and then in the morning I’m taking you into the diner with me before class.”

“Wait…what?” Beau says, brow furrowing and eyes finally lifting carefully to meet his.

“Unless you can give me a damn good reason to take you home instead,” he counters.

 _That_ gets something out of her; a sort of cold fire lighting in her eyes and settling across her shoulders as she straightens for the first time on the couch.

“I have a reason,” she says lowly, resolute.

“Love to hear it,” he presses, and she glares at him, lip curling sharp and feral.

“Fuck you,” she spits, and he nods.

“Right, so diner it is then, and you can hang at the college with me, or I—”

She stands suddenly, all harsh angles and rage. Jester hovers, anxious at his shoulder, like she wants to intervene but doesn’t know how.

“Fuck you, Fjord,” Beau snaps again, hands clenching tight at her sides. “Where do you get off thinking you can just interfere like this?”

“Interfere?”

He lifts a brow, and a part of him _knows_ that this isn’t how this is supposed to work, that he’s being patronizing, that he’s doing this _wrong_ and he wants so badly to make this work he’s tired of things not working for him, but he still—

“Last I checked, you were the one who knocked on my door.”

That catches her. She inhales sharp, ready to retaliate regardless, and Jester steps forward.

“Guys,” she says, fixing them both with a stern look, lingering on Fjord a moment longer. “It’s late, and I think we’re all a little strung out, ok? Beau, just…please?”

She turns back to the other girl, and some of the hard lines of Beau’s body soften. “We can figure things out in the morning, but for now, do you think you could stay here tonight?”

“I thought I was supposed to ask that,” Beau mumbles, crossing her arms tight over her chest as her eyes drop away again.

“The answer’s yes,” Fjord says as gently as he can manage, working to let his frustration fall away. “I can make up the couch for you and we’ll go from there.”

“Great,” Jester chirps, and some of the light comes back into her eyes as she grins at them both. “I’ll see you tomorrow then!”

“Bye, Jes,” Fjord says fondly, offering her a tired smile of his own. “Thanks for comin’ out.”

“Of course, any time! I am the med student, after all.”

There’s a twist of her lips as she says that, like she’d forgotten that right, technically, she _was_ medically trained to heal people. Then she’s out the door, and the tension settles in again like an awkward blanket around shoulders. Fjord deals with it the only way he can see how; by doing. He pulls some sheets from the hall closet upstairs and grabs the extra pillows off his bed and makes up the couch for Beau and offers a spare sweatshirt that she accepts with a careful shrug and a nod. Then he gets himself ready for bed, and tries not to slip back into existential _what the fuck am I doing?_ mode and fails, and at that point it really is late, and they both need sleep.

“Um,” Beau says, when he wishes her goodnight and makes for the stairs. Her hands fidget, twisting sharp at her sides in that rhythmic ‘up down’ movement. She grimaces and stops a second after Fjord notices, though he hadn’t said anything. “Do…um. Stay?” She shuffles on the balls of her feet, swallowed small by his Wildemount hoodie. “Could you…stay?”

So he stays. Drags his sleeping bag out and grabs the remaining pillows from his bed and sets up on the floor right by the couch. Turns on Vox Machina and they drift off to the familiar buzz of the cartoon together. It’s not the most comfortable sleep he’d had, but it’s not his comfort he’s most concerned about.

Beau is gone in the morning. His sheets are folded over themselves at the end of the couch, his hoodie on top. And on top of the hoodie, a sticky note that hovers above the fabric more than it actually sticks.

‘Fjord, thanks.’ – Beau

Beneath her hasty scrawl is a phone number, and it’s only when he puts it in his phone that he realizes he hadn’t had it in the first place.

He gets a text from her in the middle of his morning class, and he easily tunes out the teacher’s droning to swipe open his messages.

_Home safe. Thanks again._

He texts back with only a second to make sure he’s not being noticed, but the professor is engrossed in the history of ancient Exandrian trade routes, so he thinks he’s fine.

_Of course. I’m here, and the couch is yours any time you need._

He doesn’t get anything back after that, and it’s only when he goes back to his notes that he realizes it had almost sounded like he was saying that _he_ was hers, as well. It’s when he’s getting coffee with Caduceus that afternoon that he finally gets a response back.

_You seriously need to get better alcohol then._

And he thinks that for her, he could probably manage that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful- Paramore


	5. falling farther from what we are (these conversations kill)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Driving faster in my car  
> Falling farther from where we are  
> Smoke a cigarette and lie some more  
> These conversations kill....
> 
> * * * *  
> This chapter features frank discussions of abuse. While non graphic, there are references to previous abuse as well as a brief anxiety attack and Beau-levels of attempted self-sabotage. Just a heads up for safety. 
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoy!
> 
> \- Raven

It’s pushing some time close to evening when Beau gets a text from Caleb. It’s entirely in Zemnian, and so by the time she’d translated it to ‘picking you up at 3’ –after fact checking the online translation in her books, because she is nothing of not an expert researcher— it’s 3:05 and Caleb is knocking on her front door.

“Fucking shit, Caleb,” she hisses, yanking the door open and wedging herself into it. “You _know_ you can’t just text me and show up like this.”

_Can’t just knock on the fucking door…._

“Beauregard?” her mother calls from behind her, and she curses again and unfolds from the frame. “Who’s at the door?”

“No one, mom.” She shoots Caleb a dark look and peels back further. “Just—”

“Ah, yes hallo,” Caleb says smoothly, stepping into the living room bold as fuck. “My name is Caleb Widowgast and I am a friend of Beauregard’s.”

“A friend?” her mom says, and her brow lifts at Beau.

“ _Just_ a friend,” Beau is quick to snap, wishing she could kill him and be done with it.

“Yes,” Caleb says, oblivious. “I am here to spirit your daughter away for illicit activities.”

Beau doesn’t know if it’s Caleb- dressed as he is in ripped dark jeans and sweater and trench jacket- or just the way he says it, so straight faced and open. But her mother snorts, just a bit, an amused smile playing at her lips.

“Are you now?” she says, in that lighthearted condescension that she does so well. “Well it wouldn’t be the first time, would it.”

“Ok no, we’re _going_ ,” Beau says, shoving Caleb bodily out the door. He stumbles over the stoop, but she’s got her hands so wrapped in his jacket that he doesn’t fall far.

“Pleasure to meet you Ma’am!” he chimes over his shoulder, the shit that he is. Molly had been influencing him too much. She almost lets go of his coat and lets him hit the ground, for that.

“Beauregard,” her mom says, and she pauses her murderous thoughts, glancing over her shoulder warily. “Don’t stay out too late, I’m making dinner at seven.”

“Ok, cool,” Beau mutters with a noncommittal shrug. And then she’s out the door and somehow Caleb is the one dragging her, until she’s clambering into the passenger seat of a beaten and brown Toyota.

“What was that about?” Caleb asks, cautious and not at all subtle.

“Nothing, just letting me know to be back by dinner,” she mumbles, grimacing at the lumpy cushioned seat.

“Seven,” he says back, committing the time to the clock in his brain.

“Yeah,” Beau says shortly.

“Because your father is going to be home at seven, and so you need to be home before him.”

Molly’s _definitely_ been influencing him. He used to keep those sort of observations to himself.

“Your car is shit,” she snaps, instead of answering.

Caleb blinks at her, wounded. “My car is not shit, he murmurs slowly.

“Your car _is_ shit,” Beau insists as he backs out of the driveway. “And so are you. The fuck are you doing at my house?”

“Ah. Well,” Caleb says, eyes too fixed on the empty road. “I am just about to go into my shift, and I know that you like to hang out there, and so I thought ‘hey, why don’t I go and get Beauregard?’ and so I did.”

“Smooth,” she deadpans, punching him at the light.

“I thought so,” Caleb says, shrugging her punch from his shoulder.

“When did you even get a car anyway?”

“Last month,” he says slowly. “Erm. Fjord helped me find it.”

That explains it.

“Oh,” she says, unable to figure out what it is about hearing Fjord’s name that’s bothering her.

In what is definitely a much shorter time than a bus ride would have been, they pull up to the diner. Beau bristles as Caleb parks and there is an unmistakable row of multicolored cars— Molly’s purple convertible, Fjord’s cornflower/ocean blue sedan, even Cad’s hippie wagon which for sure must have been blackmailed out of his brother’s possession.

“Caleb,” she growls, and his face twists.

“Just…come inside?”

“Fuck you,” she spits. She slams his car door when she gets out and feels bad about it seconds later, then feels bad that she feels bad and it just pisses her off more.

“Oh, Beau’s here,” Caduceus drawls out from the corner booth when they walk in, not the least bit sarcastic. “That’s just great.”

Fjord straightens in the booth beside him, fingers tight around a mug of tea on the table before him. Jester twists around the booth from the opposite side, making no pretenses about staring, and her face lights up when she sees Beau. It just makes that bad feeling in her gut twist all the sharper, especially when she sees that Molly is perched on top of the booth beside Jester, feet on the seat where usually one more would be sitting.

“Where’s Yasha?” she can’t help but ask, even though she already knows.

Cad’s face falls in soft grief, and Molly’s feet stop kicking on the seat.

“Right,” Beau says gruffly, clearing her throat and leaping over the top of the booth to slide down into the spot taken by Molly’s legs. He yelps and jerks back, reeling over the other side, and she feels moderately better.

“That is…another conversation that we also need to have. At some point,” Caleb says softly, sliding into the booth beside Jester. Molly picks himself up and resumes his position on the back of the cushioned booth, feet tapping an idle rhythm on the seat.

“Why?” Beau mutters, arms crossing sharply and trying to avoid Fjord’s gaze. “She’s made her feelings pretty clear where she stands.”

Molly kicks Beau in the back of her head with his heel. He’s not wearing any shoes, because of course he isn’t, but it still hurts.

“Asshole!” she bites out, wincing away.

“Obnoxious,” he pokes back, voice a low hiss that holds none of his teasing warmth.

“You know as well as any of us that she didn’t exactly have a say in that,” Fjord says delicately. It’s the first time she’s heard his voice in a while, and she has to fight the way it feels like a blow to the gut.

“Because Obann is a manipulative dick!” Jester finishes, sharp and furious.

“Quite,” Cad agrees sagely, nodding into his own tea mug.

Obann was a dick, Beau wasn’t denying that. But she also couldn’t deny the way Yasha’s continued absence still stung like rejection, especially since the attack on Dairon’s library. Dairon hadn’t been there, thankfully, but had heard secondhand after a group of people matching Obann’s gang had entered and overturned the place, slaughtering a number of the librarians that had been working. Even Zeenoth hadn’t made it unscathed, part-time as he was at the hospital, and Beau didn’t want to admit the way that especially wrung some kind of feeling out of her.

“Regardless,” Caleb cuts back in, and Beau leans back against Molly’s feet so he’ll stop kicking her. “We do have some important things to discuss, if you’ll indulge us, Beauregard.”

“Don’t you have a shift to get to?” she bites out through her teeth.

(She knows for a fact that she can break Molly’s leg, and she’s trying to weigh the pros and cons in her head. Pro: he’ll think twice before he kicks her again. Con: Fjord will give her that disappointed look he does and Jester will be upset and Caleb will flinch at her capacity for violence and Cad will do that ‘understanding counselor’ thing he’s too damn good at and Yasha….isn’t here.)

“My shift does not start until four,” Caleb says quietly, and she wishes Jester weren’t in between the two of them suddenly because she wants to punch Caleb and break Molly’s leg all at once.

There must be something that shows, because somehow she’s too open when she’s high strung like this and the fact that she’s high strung like this is a bad sign in itself. She’s too high strung and she’s settled on the pro and she wants to break Molly’s leg except he’s not even kicking her at this point but it doesn’t even matter and all of it _shows_ and—

“Beau, breathe.”

She blinks a bit first, and she’s not sure but the table flipped without her realizing it because Fjord is now on her left and Jester is on her right, and Fjord’s got his hand gentle and firm around her the back of her neck and Jester’s fingers tangled in hers and _damn it_ why—

“Just breathe for a sec, ok,” Fjord says again, and she wants to find the breath to tell him to fuck off, but can’t.

“I’m still pissed at you.” Oh, hey.

It’s said through chattering teeth, the edge of the anxiety fading away but leaving just enough to leave her shaky and wired in all the wrong ways, but she manages it at least.

(The con still comes.)

Fjord’s face falls, and Jester’s fingers slip slow from her grasp. And Molly huffs a sharp sigh and Caleb frowns and Cad just nods easily at her, no judgement.

“See, this is why communication is important,” he rumbles gently. “All relationships need it to survive properly, just like water for plants.”

Don’t say don’t don’t say it don’t—

“What relationship?”

(Caleb still flinches at her capacity for violence.)

(She does too.)

“You say communication’s important, Caduceus but that goes both ways. Three ways, whatever.”

“Hard to communicate when you wouldn’t even _talk_ to us,” Fjord bites out, and he’s pissed and too close and it shouldn’t scare her but it does.

“I wasn’t talking to you because you decided to try and mess in shit you had no right to!” she bites right back.

She’s too wedged into the corner of the booth; he’s too close. It’s Fjord, it’s just Fjord but he’s pissed and too close and she’s too wedged in!

“Fjord,” Molly snaps suddenly, and she jumps and hates him for it.

“Yeah,” Fjord says, clipped. He gets up and for a split second it’s someone else looming over her. And then he’s gone, and the tight feeling in Beau’s chest fades.

“ _Scheisse_ ,” Caleb hisses from the opposite side of the table. “I did not think this through.”

“It was a great idea, love,” Molly chirps, but his voice is tight and his feet twitch like he wants to kick them again.

“Beau,” Jester says when he goes, voice high and worried. “You know we care about you, right? That’s why we worry about you…we want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” she retorts, irritated and also missing the weight of Fjord’s presence and irritated because of that, too.

“ _Right_ ,” Molly drawls, and his feet do start kicking again. “Which is why you haven’t returned any of our messages or talked to Fjord or Jester in over a month, and also why you flinched a second ago when Fjord was getting angry.”

“Easy now, Molly,” Cad chides softly. 

“What do you want me to say?” Beau blurts out, anxious and wedged amongst her group as she is. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Fjord coming back from the direction of the restroom.

“What do you want me to say?” she repeats, and she hates how small she is, how small they’ve made her with their _care_.

“Nothing that you don’t want to give,” Cad assures gently, as Fjord sits back down.

“Nothin’ that we wouldn’t want to hear,” he says, and there’s movement in the corner of her eye and she’s debating whether she needs to avoid it when it stops.

She blinks, realizes she’s got Fjord’s wrist in her hand— that he’d been trying to put his hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she mumbles quickly, dropping it.

“Beau?” Jester presses, twining their fingers together. “You know we care about you, right?”

“And, for your safety,” Caleb adds quietly, brows raised above the rim of his glasses. They make him look owlish and innocent and she’s not sure if it’s that or just all of them that has her talking.

“It’s not my safety I’m worried about.”

Her admission goes cold out in the air, in the middle of the table. Caduceus frowns solemnly and Fjord grips his mug tighter and Molly goes entirely still.

“I…I have a little brother. TJ— Thoreau Junior.”

Caduceus grimaces, a soft noise of displeasure rumbling in his throat.

“Terrible thing, to give your child the burden of your own name,” he says lowly, and Beau snorts because well, yeah. That’s one way of looking at it.

Caleb is the only one who isn’t surprised by this information, but he still at least nods in acknowledgement.

“You have a brother?” Jester repeats, soft.

Beau nods and wishes she had something other than Jester’s hands to wrap her own around. Something that won’t break if she squeezes.

“How old is he?” Fjord asks.

“Two, almost three,” she answers, and she can’t help the bittersweet smile that twists her face as she fishes out her phone to find a picture of him.

“Aw, he’s so cute!” Jester coos as she takes in his dimples and round baby face and thick, wavy curls.

“Yeah, don’t let that face fool you,” Beau murmurs as Jester passes her phone around. “He’s a little shit when he wants to be.”

“Someone related to you? Inconceivable!” Molly chirps, casting a fond look at the photo before handing it on to Fjord.

“You don’t get to use The Princess Bride against me like that,” Beau scolds, and Molly bites his tongue at her and for a moment, everything is normal again.

Then Fjord says: “Has your dad ever…?”

And the cold comes rushing back in, a stone settling heavy in her gut.

“No,” she says quickly, cutting him off before he can finish. “And I plan on keeping it that way.”

“By sacrificing yourself? That’s not fair to you either, Beau!” he says, and she scoffs, sharp and bitter.

“Since when has anything in any of our lives been _fair_?”

“I’m sorry,” Cad breaks in, gentle and confused. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“Don’t,” Beau warns, but Fjord’s already talking.

“Beau showed up at my apartment beat bloody one night, little over a month ago.”

“ _Fjord_ ,” Beau tries again, eyes flickering around the table.

Caleb’s brows go up, and then furrow with concern. Cad frowns, his shoulders tucking in subconsciously. Molly’s lips try to flicker into a grin, but don’t quite manage it successfully.

“Who’d you piss of this time?” he ribs, and Fjord glares and says:

“She’d come from home.”

Caleb jerks, startled, half-formed Zemnian whispering and faltering to the table. Molly hisses sharply, and Cad looks even more confused than before, head tilting softly to glance across at Beau.

“What?” he asks, voice low and almost afraid. As if unable to comprehend the idea that home could be anything but a haven.

Beau shrinks under the collective weight of it all, even as she jerks her head around to glare at Fjord.

“It’s not…you make it sound….”

“Worse?” he finishes for her, jaw tight. “I can’t imagine there’s somethin’ better than _that_.”

“Like it happens all the time,” she tries anyway. Caleb gives her a look across the table, mouth a thin line.

“It _doesn’t_ ,” she snaps at him. “And anyway, that was the first time it was bad enough to….”

“To draw _blood_? That shouldn’t be the important factor here!”

Fjord’s angry again, and as much as she knows it’s not directed at her, the other part of her fights to cower away regardless. The main part of her, the part that’s angry too, snarls displeasure and it’s that false courage that has her arguing back.

“Yeah well, and what did you decide to do about it? Take it to the _cops_?” The bitterness is back, but so is the emotion she’d been trying to suppress and it chokes in her throat and makes her voice shake. “You did _shit_ is what you did. The number of times I’ve been dragged in to them growing up…only thing they did was threaten to tell my dad the next time I gave them trouble.”

Jester inhales sharply and the rest of the air around the table seems to flee with it.

“They can do that?”

“They’re just waiting for an excuse _not_ to, at this point,” Beau mumbles, unable to meet any of their gazes. She snatches Molly napkin and fiddles with it, and he’s so stunned that he doesn’t even try to stop her.

“As fucked up as that is,” Caleb finally manages, delicate even as he trips over the words. “It does not change the fact that what your father did to you is unacceptable. Also your isolating yourself from us…that is also not ok, Beauregard.”

“You guys…” Beau shrinks, napkin forgotten in her lap as she folds her arms around herself. “You keep making such a big deal over...”

“You?” Caduceus finishes. “Well, yeah.”

“I was gonna say nothing,” Beau mumbles back, and Molly kicks her in the head again.

“Ow, you dick!”

“Sorry, you were saying something stupid so I had to intervene,” he says, and kicks her again, only slightly lighter.

“You’re not nothing, Beau!” Jester cries, and before she can process, Jester wraps her in a hug. “Not to us.”

“Never,” Fjord agrees, eyes solemn even as he smiles at her.

“ _Du bist mein Geschwister,_ ” Caleb murmurs. “We get on each other’s nerves, but that is what siblings do, ja? We look out for each other.”

“Damn it,” Beau hisses. She swallows hard and finds out her mouth tastes salty, and blinks and realizes she’s crying. “You’re all assholes.”

“But we’re _your_ assholes!” Jester sing-songs, and Cad nods across the table at her in agreement.

She doesn’t know how long this insular little moment lasts. Long enough, she supposes, for Caleb to finally clock in. He comes back seconds later and folds his hands on the table like this is a business meeting suddenly. His sweater collar is crooked though, and it completely ruins the serious image he’s trying to project.

“So,” he says, and even though his voice is clipped, it’s not unkind. “Here is what is going to happen.”

“What?” She deadpans, suddenly getting the feeling that she wasn’t going to like this.

“You are going to _text us_ ,” Caleb continues, and she swears she can feel actual heat when he glares at her. “Whenever you feel unsafe…if you need to be out of the house. Anything. You _text us_ , ja. And we will come get you and make sure you’re ok.”

“What, you think I need a babysitter or something now?”

Caleb scowls, and Jester deflates with a soft whine, and Molly tries to kick her again but she grabs his ankle this time, putting just the right amount of pressure so he knows she’s serious.

“Molly I swear to _fucking_ Ioun I will break your leg if you do that shit again.”

“Pretty sure Ioun doesn’t fuck, that’s the Moonweaver’s job,” he quips back.

She adjusts her grip on his ankle and he flinches, recoiling.

“Fuck, alright!”

“Beau.”

She flinches too, but Fjord’s hand is gentle as it comes down on her shoulder, turning her back so she has no choice but to focus on him.

“Promise you’ll text us?” he says softly, and she feels her shoulders hitch up at the tone in his voice.

“Ok,” she whispers. “Ok.”

“Good,” he says back, just as soft. “I…we couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”

“Yeah, well…I know…I know you guys care. And uh. I’m sorry. For not talking before.”

“Does this mean you’re not mad at us anymore?” Jester asks, and how could Beau ever stay mad when she gives her a face like that?

“Nah, I’m not…I wasn’t really mad at you guys.”

Scared. She’d been so scared of losing them, and she’d figured if she was going to, better it be on her terms. But she can’t say all of that, because then she’d have to admit that they _mean_ something to her, and that. Well. She’s not quite ready for that.

“Oh, great!” Molly chimes, and his feet kick gleefully at the cushions of the booth again. “Now that all the emotional stuff is done can we _please_ order some food?”

“Fuck you Molly,” Beau snaps, and the laughter, when it comes, soothes the remaining anxiety from her chest.

Caleb goes to do his job and brings back drinks and food and pretends not to notice Molly adding something from a flask to everyone’s beverages. They end up staying until 6 before Caleb insists that Beau needs to go home, and then there’s a brief scramble for keys and squabbles over rides. Fjord and Jester end up driving her home, or rather, Fjord drives and Jester chatters away from the backseat and Beau lets herself hope, if only for this moment, that maybe she doesn’t have to lose them after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big Empty Conversations Kill- Stone Temple Pilots


	6. well it takes one to know one (kid, i think you got it bad)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it takes one to know one, kid, I think you got it bad  
> What was simple in the moonlight by the morning's such a drag 
> 
> ****  
> This chapter features trauma-related nightmares and panic attacks, as well as discussions of those nightmares and referenced abuse. Also features platonic intimacy (and maybe also not so platonic intimacy) and *feelings.* 
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoy!
> 
> \- Raven

It _had_ been a good night, all things considered. Binge watching Vox Machina with shitty alcohol and top notch snacks courtesy of Jester. The three of them had collapsed on the couch in what was becoming their new normal; Fjord wedged against the back, Jester on the outside, Beau sandwiched perfectly between them. It's a much better fit with the new couch. Jester had found it a few weeks back on the side of the road, only had a small tear in one cushion and so then she'd recruited Yasha who, with her truck, was the only one of them with a vehicle capable of carrying it. And so now there was room enough to be comfortable and actually stretch out a bit when they sleep together like this. Fjord couldn't deny that at first he'd worry that the increase of space of their choice in bed might also mean an increase of space between them, but he needn't have. They still go right into their usual, but this time, there's space for Beau’s arms to wrap around Jester without also stabbing Fjord's ribs with her elbows. 

He loves the way they all fit so nicely together, loves the way Beau trusts him enough to nestle her head in the crook of his shoulder, loves the way Jester's nose scrunches up when she's starting to fall asleep. Loves the soft noises Beau will make, when she's too tense for immediate sleep and he'll rub circles on her back until she drifts. Loves— gods. Loves _them_.

It's hard not to, he knows. Knows that _they_ love each other; Jester and Beau. But he doesn't know where exactly he even fits in this little triad of theirs, doesn't even know if he _does_ fit, doesn't want to let his own feelings get in the way of this perfectly good thing right here. It's these thoughts that spiral on an anxious loop in his head, with Beau tucked solidly against him and Jester against her. It's not just whatever emotional sentiment he carries that's the problem. He...he _wants_ , desperately. And that scares him because he's never been one for wanting, not in that way, and not only that but he doesn't even know if either of them even feel the same way. If they even _could_ feel the same towards him and who was he, to come in and mess up the dynamic that they had between the two of them...between the three of them...and why can't he just....

It cycles, ceaselessly, tossing and turning through his head in a way that his body can't. Not if he doesn't want to disturb Beau, curled so tightly against him as she is. Granted, if she hadn't been bothered by Jester getting up for the bathroom she wouldn't—

There's a sudden sharp shift in Beau's muscles that startles him out of the thought spiral. A lurching stutter of movement is all the warning he gets before she's screaming, a wrenching, twisting cry before it breaks into fractured gasps. 

"Shit!" He hisses, jumping almost out of his skin. Then he snaps back into focus because Beau is still sobbing those desperate cries, and he realizes as he sits up that she's not quite fully awake. 

"Beau!?" Jester cries, and suddenly the lights are on. 

Fjord squints, blinded for just a moment. It's in that moment that Beau wakes up, if the shifting sound of her cries is any indication. It's no longer that sharp scream, and instead lower, almost like a whine. Then that too stops, and Fjord shifts carefully upright, forcing Beau up as well until they're both sitting. He can see Jester kneeling in front of Beau, her hands on Beau's wrists, Beau's hands tight clenching fists on her knees.

"Hey, hey it's ok," Jester is cooing softly, eyes bright with worry. "You're ok, it's over now. You're with us. You're safe. It's over, Beau, it's over." 

The soothing mantra repeats once...twice, and some time through it Fjord gently places his hand on Beau's back and starts rubbing circles. She's shaking, almost shivering, really, and so it's only fair that her voice also falters when she finally manages a rough: " _Fuck_."

"You're alright," Jester says again, almost as if reaffirming a question. 

"What..." Beau chokes out, and Fjord inwardly winces at the way her voice breaks over the word. 

"You were screaming," he says, and Jester shoots him a sharp look as Beau seems to fold further inwards. 

"Oh," she mumbles. "Sorry for waking you guys up. You don't--"

"Beau, don't be sorry," Jester scolds, eyes soft as they turn to her. "You had a bad dream. It's not something you can control."

"Fucking should be," Beau mutters back. 

"Jester's right," Fjord says, letting his hands drift further down her back as he rubs. "You can't exactly help your nightmares, and it's not as if..."

"Yeah but I'm not some fucking little kid who has nightmares all the time!" Beau bursts out, cutting him off. "I should be over this by now."

“Over this?” Jester's brow furrows in concern and confusion, and Fjord is just about to press when Beau flinches hard, curling away from his hands. He blinks, and realizes a moment before he glances down that his fingers had been tracing over the faint scars on her lower back, and the concern he feels shifts ever so slightly towards anger. 

"Nightmares about your father, you mean." 

Beau stiffens and pulls even further away, arms coming up to wrap around her tightly. The realization falls heavier on Jester, who sinks in sympathy even as Beau recoils from it. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" She whispers, and Beau scoffs, the sound ripping harsh and broken from her throat.

“No I don’t wanna fucking talk about it,” she snaps, and Jester frown slightly.

“My mumma always said that if you talk about your bad dreams, they’ll go away.”

“And we all know how wonderfully smart and capable Jester’s mother is,” Fjord pokes lightly, and Beau whirls sharply away, wedging herself into the corner of the sofa.

“Why are you guys so insistent that I talk about every little thing?” she snaps, and Fjord can see she’s trying to keep her face blank, but there’s a twitch in her jaw that ruins her unaffected illusion.

“Because it’s obviously still affecting you and I know you don’t believe in talking, but it’s just going to hurt you more in the long run,” Fjord snaps back.

“You sound like Caduceus,” Beau grumbles, lips curling downwards in a sharp pout.

“Is he wrong?” Fjord counters, and she crosses her arms and pouts even harder.

“Beau,” Jester tries, and some of the harshness melts from around the edges of Beau’s expression. “This is the third time you’ve woken up with nightmares this week, and it’s not that it’s a bother to us, you could _never_. But we’re worried for you.”

“You don’t…you don’t have to worry about me,” Beau says lowly, eyes flickering everywhere but at either of them. “I’m fine.”

“If you call getting kicked out of your abusive parents’ house and then drugged almost immediately after ‘fine,’ I’d like to reevaluate your definitions,” Fjord argues, and Beau flinches again.

“It’s not…I wasn’t…” she tries, and Fjord lifts her brow at her even though she can’t see it.

“You gonna try and tell me you weren’t abused?” he says, and Beau draws in even further on herself.

“It wasn’t…you make it sound….” she trails off, and Fjord notices that one of her hands starts flapping sharply by her knees.

“Like he didn’t throw you out of the house?” Fjord finishes tightly. “Like he didn’t beat you bloody? Twice.”

“Don’t,” Beau snaps, but it’s shaky at best and does nothing to stop the fury he feels that she refuses to feel for herself.

“You can deny it if you want, but that doesn’t change the facts,” he continues, and Jester shifts and puts a hand on his arm.

“Fjord,” she says, and he stops, but Beau is already inhaling sharply.

“You think I don’t fucking _know_ that?” she spits, and her hand has stopped its movement but now she’s moving; a short, sharp rock, like she’s vibrating in place, as if she’s tearing from her body in motion alone. “You think I’m not reminded of that every fucking night?”

“Beau,” Jester whispers, soft, calming.

“You wanna fucking know what my dream was about?”

She’s crying, silent tears from her eyes and choking words from her mouth.

“I was in the kitchen, and my dad and I were arguing. And it was one of those stupid things with no sound so I couldn’t hear anything he was saying but I could _feel_ that it was a bad argument, that he pissed and that I…in the dream I was just angry but I was so fucking _terrified_.”

Beau swallows hard, and the tears are still falling, drifting towards her chin. She’s still rocking too, and Fjord wants to just wrap her up and hold her and apologize and not let go until everything else went away.

“What happened next?” Jester presses, eyes soft with her own unshed tears. “In the dream?”

“I don’t know, I don’t…the fight just kept going,” Beau says, arms folding over the top of her knees, face sinking slowly into them and effectively hiding her from view as she rocks. “And then there was this weird shift— I don’t know what he said but I just…couldn’t move and I just…I fucking _knew—_ And I was so fucking scared and I couldn’t move and he was. I fucking _knew_ ….”

“Knew what?” Fjord asks, a tight knot clenching in his stomach.

“That he was going to kill me,” Beau whispers into her knees.

“Beau…” Jester starts, but Beau jerks sharply away when she tries to reach for her.

“It’s stupid!” she bursts out, hands coming up to rub roughly at her face. “It’s so fucking stupid it’s just a dream and it’s not like he ever…it’s just a _dream_!”

But clearly the trauma behind it is real, Fjord wants to point out. But that’s Caduceus’ job.

“Did…have you ever felt that scared before?” he chokes out instead, and Beau makes a face.

“Of him?” she says, expression twisting. “No.”

It’s clearly a lie, but Fjord’s not about to call her on it now. Not with how hard she’s shaking, not with how the very idea of it in a dream is enough to set her to panic. And…she _is_ panicking, he realizes with a jolt, sharp shuddering gasps that wrench broken sobs further from her in that clawing way that only a full blown attack can bring.

He does hug her then, wraps her tight to his chest and at first she lashes out at him but then he rests his chin in the crook of her neck and starts humming, low and deep. It’s something Caleb had taught him; said that the vibrations of it were almost like a purr, something soothing and just enough of a sensory input to kick whatever spiral was happening out of focus. That’s why he wore Frumpkin like a scarf, sometimes, on really bad days.

At first, it doesn’t seem to register, as Beau’s hands continue to claw in blind terror at his arms. He wonders if he’s gripping wrong, fears that he’s just doing all of this wrong, that he’s making it worse. Then he realizes that Beau was gripping him back, her fingers tight around his forearms, the wild sharpness of her breaths calming ever so slightly. He keeps humming, a low continuous note, all too aware of the intimacy of their position, how close his mouth is to her skin and wondering if he even _dares_ …..

(And then decides that yes, yes he does dare.)

Carefully, gently, he presses his lips to her shoulder, keeping up the soft steady hum. For a second, Beau freezes, and he fears he’s just made it worse, ruined everything. Then she relaxes ever so slightly, her sobs tapering off just a bit further. He trails soft kisses and low hums as the panic continues to subside, trying to convey as much as he can in a way that he doesn’t trust his voice enough to say.

 _You’re ok,_ in the soft gentle touch of his lips to her shoulder.

 _I’m here,_ in a kiss behind her ear.

 _You’re safe_ , to the smooth dip between her shoulder blades.

 _I love you_ , in the softest kiss on the back of her neck.

The pattern of her breathing slows considerably with each gentle kiss, and he locks eyes with Jester at one point through it to find her smirking at him lightly, a knowing look in her dark eyes. He flushes and drops his gaze, wishing he could better pretend that none of this was affecting him, that his feelings weren’t actually that deep.

(But no, he’s definitely in way over his head.)

Beau is still now, the aftershocks of the panic leaving her trembling but no longer sobbing, and Fjord indulges in one more gentle kiss to her shoulder before whispering “Hey. You back with us?”

She nods slightly, and clears her throat before choking out a hoarse “Yeah.”

"Good."

“Hey, do uh…do you guys think you’ll be ok if I leave for work?” Jester asks, and Beau starts, pulling slightly out of Fjord’s arms.

“What?” she says. “What time is it?”

“Um, a little after 5,” Jester answers. “I’m opening the shop today.”

“I thought Cad said….”

“It was one time!” Jester cuts across Fjord before he can finish. “We’ve moved past it!”

“Right,” Fjord drawls skeptically, and Beau lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Well, good luck with that,” she murmurs. “Um…I’m sorry for waking you up so early.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jester assures quickly, cupping Beau’s face with a hand. “I would have been up anyway.”

“Yeah but…”

“Hey,” Fjord scolds lightly, poking at her side. “Stop that. It is not something that you could have controlled…not your fault, ok?”

“Ok,” Beau says, in that way he knows means she doesn’t believe it for a second.

But she does settle back against his chest once Jester finally does leave for work, and he thinks she’s almost gotten back to sleep when she whispers “Fjord? Thanks.”

“Of course,” he says, smiling fondly down at her.

He presses another soft kiss to her temple as her eyes slip closed again, and he almost swears he sees her lips curve into a smile before he’s drifting, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lua- Bright Eyes


	7. we're all dead in devil town (that's fine, 'cause nothing's gonna scare us now)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's alright in devil town  
> Yeah, right. No one's gonna catch us now  
> I forgot my name again  
> I think that's something worth remembering   
> * * *  
> Be warned this chapter features physical, mental and emotional abuse!   
> Basically, Obann, but please proceed with caution.

_She comes back to herself in pain._

She’s on the floor, and she doesn’t know how she got there.

_Her whole body throbs, and Obann is standing above her._

That’s wrong. He would never hurt her.

He steps forward, and when he reaches down for her she recoils. It’s instinct, and she doesn’t understand when that became a thing. Why she flinches when his hands enter her field of vision.

_She tastes blood in the back of her throat and his hands are stained red._

She makes the mistake of looking into his face. He is angry…no. He is _furious_ , his eyes cold and jaw tight as she jerks back and away.

His hands reach again and this time he makes contact, fingernails scraping hot lines across her scalp as his fingers tangle in her hair and _pull_. She has always been confident in her own strength and yet in this moment she falters, and her head pounds as he drags her upright and for a brief moment nothing makes sense and the only thing that fills her lungs is fear.

She comes back with the sharp sting of water on her face, water filling her lungs and battering her bruised body. She tries to jerk back but there is a vise gripping tight to the back of her neck and keeping her in place and there is a voice, a voice she knows, a voice she _trusted_ , droning low and dark beneath the pounding of the water.

She lets it pull her away, and fleetingly she hears _you brought this on yourself_.

* * *

She comes back to herself in pain.

_She’s on the floor, and— no, wait. She’s done this before._

She’s on the floor, the carpet stinging rough across her face. She starts to get her hands under her, pushing upright, then freezes at the dark shift of movement in the corner of her vision.

“’bout time,” a young woman’s low voice rasps out.

For a second, Yasha’s mind conjures an entirely different voice with a similar low rasp. Then a foot connects sharply with her ribs and the illusion is gone.

“Get up,” Jourrael says, voice as sharp as her boots. “You’ve been wallowing long enough.”

Wallowing, Yasha thinks darkly, hissing through her teeth at the protesting pain. Is that what we’re calling it these days?

There is…an odd look on Jourrael’s face as Yasha gets upright at last. It is hard to tell, even harder given the way the other girl hardly looks at Yasha at all. But it’s in the press of lines her mouth that Yasha reads displeasure, and the rapid flickering of her eyes that say fear/concern/guilt. But it’s her voice, dark and low and utterly blank that says “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

Yasha’s own voice, when it finally comes out past split and bleeding lips, is cracked and hoarse. Some bitter part of her wants to say that’s what comes from screaming under Obann’s hands. She buries that angry, bitter part immediately, knows it will only bring her worse pain, if she ever let it out.

Jourrael huffs a sharp sigh, and Yasha flinches, having briefly forgotten she was there.

“Errands to run,” she says, and Yasha goes cold.

“Just us?” she manages, and the odd flicker in Jourrael’s eyes sharpens.

“Yup,” she says shortly, popping the ‘p’ with morbid indifference.

But she’s biting her lip when she says it. _Jourrael never bites her lip, not since Obann threatened to cut them off if he saw her doing it again._ He’d said after, that it had been a joke. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d still struck her, when she had, inevitably, done it again.

‘Gives away your thoughts,’ Obann had scolded between blows and Jourrael’s soft grunts of pain. ‘Entirely ruins the point of having a stone cold assassin at my beck and call.’

Joking, always joking.

But Yasha couldn’t deny that at the time, she’d just been glad it was someone else on the other side of Obann’s wrath, for once.

Now, however, Jourrael was biting her lip, and not meeting Yasha’s eyes, and _fidgeting_ , which Obann really had taken a knife to her for. And saying something that Yasha now recognizes as a lie.

“If we’re quick about it, we can get this done before dinner.”

“Errands,” Yasha prompts, because errands means Obann wants them to kill someone, and Jourrael loves going out to kill people.

“Right,” she says, but she’s not grinning, and not fingering her knives, and not meeting Yasha’s eyes.

Yasha follows her anyway.

_She almost regrets it_.

* * *

“You have five minutes,” Jourrael says. “Five minutes, and then we’re going back, and we’re never speaking of this again.”

It’s raining, pouring, the pattern of it beating down in sharp staccatos that remind Yasha of the sting of the shower, of looking down and seeing her blood running pink down the tiled drain, of Obann’s fingers, bruising on the back of her neck and his voice, low and merciless in her ear.

It’s raining, and she is outside, and she is not bleeding. Not this time, anyway. The streetlights sparkle in blurry streams around the edges of her vision and cars rush past in wet, harried splashes, and each time one rumbles past too close to them they get drenched through immediately and Yasha could care less. The only thing that matters is the solitary building standing in perfect clarity in the center of her focus; homey golden lights spilling from the windows and a bright red sign above and the faint outlines of a colorful troupe of people huddled in booths right near the back.

_Her people. Her friends. Her family._

“I don’t…” she swallows. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Jourrael snaps, shifting her feet with soft, wet, squelches. “Four minutes and thirty seconds, now.”

“I…thank you, El.”

Jourrael makes a face, sharp and broken. “Don’t. Four minutes.”

Yasha moves, sluggish and dazed, skittering on the steps of the diner and dripping dark rivulets of water in the foyer and then pushing through the last set of doors and then from there it’s a blast of warm air and…..

“Ya-Yasha?”

A high, cracking voice. A bob of soft blue hair.

“Holy shit. Holy…holy _fucking_ shit!”

She’s not sure who reaches her first. She half expects a blow, when the figures rush at her, too many at once to comprehend. Instead it’s warmth, and comforting arms, and rumbling voices and sobs.

“Ah,” she says softly, to the top of a curly, purple head. “Hullo….”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Molly says, pulling away from her with a soft smile that’s only a little tight with the knowledge of all the ways in which she _has_ changed.

“You better come and sit down, or Jester’ll bust a seam,” Fjord says, and his tone is light but his eyes are wary, and Yasha can’t say she blames him.

“I can’t,” she says, and Jester’s face falls, and Fjord’s jaw tightens as he nods his misguided but not misplaced understanding. “I can’t stay, I only have a few minutes.”

“Well that’s enough time for some tea, I think,” a boy around Fjord’s age says. His hair is shaved on both sides and stained a bright pink, and it hangs long- well past his shoulders. He has a soft, placid face, but his eyes seem far older, full of the kind of understanding that Fjord could only falsely imitate.

She does sit, soaking the booth and taking up far too much space in this insular, comforting bubble and she half bolts for the door right there. Then there’s a mug of something hot in her hands, and Beau is gripping her shoulder with a wry, familiar smirk.

“Hey,” she says softly, that low rasp that is only _Beau_. “Welcome back.”

It is, as it turns out, the best cup of tea she’s ever tasted.

* * *

“That was more than five minutes,” Jourrael says, when she comes back out. “He’s gonna be so fucking pissed if we’re not back in time for—”

“In time for dinner?”

“Fuck.”

Obann is a shadow until he’s not, a voice on the rain and then suddenly solid, seething fury.

“I’m disappointed in you Yasha,” he says, and his eyes are soft and sad, no trace of anger as he lifts an umbrella over her head. “I thought you knew better.”

“I…I didn’t go in,” she lies, voice only stuttering slightly over it. “I couldn’t…it was just too much and I knew—.”

“That they would only hurt you in the end?” he finishes gently, stroking a strand of rain-laden hair from her face.

“Yes.”

Another lie, but with some truth in it. The tea had been some of the best she’d ever had, and the comforting weight of Molly against her shoulder on one side and Beau on the other, and the familiar near-monotone of Caleb’s voice and the stories and…just _them_. It was wonderful but it was incorporeal, temporary at best. Unachievable at worst because she couldn’t stay, she couldn’t truly be with them like they were before. They’d…moved on. Grown, without her. She would only hold them back, if they held onto her.

“That’s why I told you to stay away,” Obann continues, and she nods, because she knows. “And that’s why I’m _extremely_ disappointed with you, El,” he growls.

The anger in his voice in enough to make Yasha shiver, enough to have Jourrael gritting her teeth to hide her own fear as she bites out “No need to patronize _me_ , Obann. How’d you know I was taking her out?”

“I had a helping hand,” Obann quips, and Jourrael hisses as he laughs at her.

“ _Bastard_!”

“Enough of that…we’ll deal with it when we get home.”

He’d called a car, which at first Yasha thinks is considerate of him. For a moment she thinks he’s perhaps not as angry as she’d feared. Then she realizes, in that cold, bitter part of her, that the only reason he called a car was to make sure they didn’t try and leave. But they make it home regardless, and Yasha isn’t sure what it is that fills her but it’s hot like relief and it makes her feel sick. But that could also be because of Obann’s anger, thick and heady and boiling and…not directed at her.

Jourrael _screams_ by the time Obann is through with her.

(They never speak of it again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devil town- Cavetown


	8. are you afraid when i look your way? (don't leave me out)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somedays I'm built of metal, I can't be broken  
> But not when I'm with you  
> You love me real, we have it all  
> Run away with me now  
> ***  
> Warnings for this chapter include child abuse, both hints and a brief instance of it, emotional manipulation and gaslighting,  
> and abandonment.  
> There is also fluff, but definitely has some heavier themes in this one so be warned.

“You don't have to do this if you don't want.”

Jester looks up sharply from where she’s doodling in the margins of the chart Caleb had drawn up.

“What do you mean? Of course we want to help you Beau!”

Beau hunches her shoulders, and with the way she’s perched on the kitchen chair it makes her look even more like a weather-battered bird.

“I just...don't want to make a big deal of it or anything.”

“It is not a big deal,” Caleb says firmly, pulling his chart away from Jester’s hands. “It is taking care of our own.”

“You know what I mean,” Beau mumbles, picking at the sleeves of Fjord’s hoodie.

Fjord, both to distract Beau from her wallowing and himself from thinking that she doesn’t look half bad in his clothes, clears his throat.

“Hey Yash, we still good to use your truck?”

Yasha fidgets, not quite looking at Fjord as she answers. “It is... not my truck. It's Obann's.”

“Which he kindly and _generously_ gave to you after he left town under _mysterious_ circumstances, so…”

Yasha’s sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face, so Fjord considers it a success.

“Yes, you can still use my truck.”

“Guys it's seriously not even gonna be necessary. I mean I can go myself and get the shit I need and be done....what?”

Beau’s expression wrinkles as she looks up at them all, stiff and glaring at her. Even Caduceus had paused and was fixing Beau with an even look over Caleb’s shoulder.

“We are _not_ letting you go back to that house alone,” Fjord snaps, adamant, and he’s more than relieved to hear the murmurs of agreement echoing around him.

Beau grumbles something under her breath that Fjord doesn’t quite catch, but Caleb scowls and nudges her with his shoulder.

“You are most definitely worth making a fuss over, Beauregard.”

There’s more agreeing noises and an odd shrugging from Beau, and Fjord makes eye contact with Jester, who lifts her brows pointedly and nods at the still blank paper by Beau’s elbow.

“Why don't you make that list for us and we'll go over it all again, 'kay?” Fjord presses gently, sliding the paper closer. “List of things you need and things you want.”

Beau grumbles some more, but she makes a list. There is complaint that neither side is long enough when she finishes, and Beau adds a couple more things to the wants side after being pressed. Fjord still doesn’t think it’s long enough, but he doesn’t push it.

“Ok,” Mollymauk chirps briskly, wrapping himself around Caleb from behind. “So we have a list, we have our roles, any idea as to what the best time to do this is?”

They look to Beau, who shrugs noncommittally.

“Any time is fine, really. It's not...”

“How 'bout now?” Molly interjects, a sharpness in his eyes.

Beau flinches, and it would be imperceptible if it were in any group other than theirs.

“Maybe…maybe not right now.”

“Tomorrow,” Fjord puts forth gently, glaring at Molly, who grins right back, all teeth.

“Yeah…ok,” Beau says exhaling slowly. “Tomorrow.”

*

Beau is shaking when they walk up to the house, and Fjord very nearly turns them all around, nearly bundles Beau back up into his sweatshirt and plops her down into his car. But he doesn’t, and her own bomber jacket stays on her, gray sleeves fraying against the gold.

“We’re right behind you,” he murmurs into her ear, and that seems to give her enough confidence to knock on the door.

Beauregard’s mother answers the door, and there is no mistaking that she is Beau’s mother. She has the same rich skin, slightly more olive toned than Beau’s, and Fjord realizes that she has Beau’s eyes, too- or Beau has hers. Those blue eyes widen, some of that rich color draining from her face as she sees her daughter standing on the steps.

“Beauregard!”

She says it with something like surprise, if it weren’t for the very plain shock written all over her face. Beau’s shoulders immediately go up and she freezes there, on the step, and probably wouldn’t have moved at all if Fjord didn’t press his hand gently but firmly to her back.

“Hey, mom,” she says slowly, pushing forward and giving the woman no choice but to let her.

“Ma'am,” Fjord says, polite but cool, sticking close as they end up in a very neatly put together living room.

“What's all this?” Beauregard’s mother continues, looking past Beau now and at the group, striding confident and determined into the house and moving throughout like they own it.

“Just...just getting some shit and then I'll be out of your way,” Beau says, her face twisting like it’s a plea and not a statement of fact.

Caleb, Jester and Yasha loiter in the living room, while Nott, Molly and Cad are already heading for the kitchen. Fjord hangs close to the door, smiling the way that everyone told him made him look charming yet intimidating, almost _daring_ the woman to kick them out.

She looks as though she might, despite their very obvious intent to the opposite, but suddenly there’s a pattering of tiny footsteps and a high voice shrieks:

"Bo!"

For the first time since the mention of going back to the house and their arrival, Fjord sees Beau's face split into a grin. She stoops down as a small blur flies into the room, and with a sudden soft 'huf,' she's got a small child in her arms.

"Hey, Little Man!" She says through a gentle laugh.

The boy in her arms is what Fjord might imagine a young Beau to look as a child-- and, well, obviously more masculine. But there is the same bright blue eyes, the same coffee-dark skin, the same stubborn jaw and nose. The only difference is the boy's hair is a shade lighter brown and falls in loose curls around the edges of his face. And he smiles different...smiles almost with his whole body as he wiggles in Beau's arms. Then he catches sight of all of them and pauses. A hand goes into his mouth and his smile turns solemn as his eyes rove curiously over all of them. He settles on Molly, who had just been about to enter the kitchen with Cad, but stops under the child's scrutiny.

"Who 'dat?" The child mumbles, head tilting into Beau's shoulder.

Still grinning softly, Beau kisses the side of his temple and spins him to take another look at the group.

"TJ, these are my friends. Guys, this is TJ."

There is a polite, if somewhat cautious smatterings of hellos, though Jester and Cad muster up more genuinity than some.

"Thoreau Junior," Beau's mother sighs sternly. Beau grimaces sharply where only Fjord can see, but obligingly spins so the boy is facing their mother. "How did you get of your pen?"

TJ wiggles in Beau's arms and makes a face, and Fjord nearly does a double take because that is _Beau's face_. That 'mischief' face she'll make where her mouth will twitch sideways and her eyes will widen just so and you'll think 'oh gods, what now?' The face she'll make before punching you, or wrestling someone (Caleb) into a headlock, or before she says some shit like 'bet I can get to the top of that tree before you do' to Nott and then parkours all the way up and gives Fjord a heart attack.

Beau chuckles lowly at her mother's outrage, and kisses the side of TJ's head again. She murmurs in his ear, low so only they, and Fjord, who is closer can hear.

"You climbed out like I taught you, didn't you?"

He giggles happily in response, and Bea squeezes him in a hug.

"Nice going, bud," she says, and their mother huffs another stern sigh.

"I swear, Thoreau Junior, you’re turning into quite the...."

"Me?" Beau finishes challengingly, when she falters.

Fjord watches her mother's mouth twist like she wants to say something, but then her eyes wander over the assembled group and she sighs heavily and stays quiet.

"Bo, Bo who's _that_?" TJ repeats, hands pressing the sides of her face to get her attention.

Beau shakes gently out of his slimy grapple and makes a face at him.

"Who's what, little man?"

TJ points to Molly, who looks uncertain at the child's direct attention. Fjord knows it's because children can be blunt and honest in a way that most adults have either forgotten how to be, or that they abstain from due to societal niceties. Molly's been called a number of things by curious children who just don't know better, and by adults who do. But Molly had confessed once it always hurts worse coming from kids. But Beau's little brother isn't looking at Molly like the ones who say things do.

Fjord's not sure what it is on the boy's face, but he's leaning halfway out of Beau's arms in Molly's direction.

"That," Beau says, catching the boy's intent and easily handing him off to a wide eyed Mollymauk. "Is my _very_ good friend Molly."

Molly makes an undignified sound and adjusts his arms to the sudden bundle. TJ leans back in his arms and stares, a soft frown forming as he takes in Molly's sharp features and hair and dangling jewelry from up close. Fjord can see Molly tensing, but Beau seems relatively at ease, and after a moment more of intense, childish scrutiny, TJ buries his hands in Molly's curling purple hair and grins brightly.

"Pretty!" he declares, and Beau's mother chokes and goes pale, and Molly bursts out with his full body squawking laugh that he does when he's really pleased with something.

"Your brother's got good taste," Molly calls over to Beau with a wink. "Where did you go wrong?"

"Oh fuck you, Molly," Beau calls back with a grin.

"Fuck you too," Molly says, and for a moment Fjord nearly lets himself be drawn into this moment.

Then Beau's mother clears her throat sharply, and the grin falls from Beau's face. She seems to shrink, just a little, under the woman's stern disapproval and the weight of her glare and the furious 'Beauregard!' that she hisses through her teeth.

"Sorry," Beau mumbles, and Molly goes to hand TJ back to her only his mother steps forward instead.

" _I'll_ take him, thank you."

She takes him before Molly can really say anything, and TJ kicks a little unhappily as he's forced to relinquish his grip on Molly's hair. Beau straightens up, and seems to struggle with something before she bites out:

"I want to see him."

"You just did," her mother says coolly, not looking back as she starts out the room.

"I'm saying goodbye before I go," Beau says firmly, and Fjord can see in her eyes the same 'no question' look that her mother had worn previously.

Her mother leaves without another word, though TJ twists awkwardly around her shoulder to try and get a glimpse of them all again, a soft whine creeping out as he goes.

There's a shuddery breath from Beau that shakes the mask away for a second and Fjord can see how frayed she already is. It's gone by the time her mother gets back, however, and she straightens with only the slightest hesitation.

“Hey uh, Jes and Caleb...no, Fjord. You guys mind coming up with me?”

There are easy, hasty agreements that are met with a sharp purse of lips from Mrs. Lionett, but no comments until Molly comes parading out with a box of plates and silverware, blatantly way more than what Beau had written as ‘need.’ Cad is close behind with mugs he'd grabbed and tea, coffee and several bottles of what is clearly booze. Turns out he can be an agent of chaos, too, when he likes.

“Um excuse...where do you think you're going with...Beauregard!”

Beau flinches and Caleb, Yasha and Molly glare in unison at her mother.

“Guys,” Beau says, voice low. “Guys, put it back....”

Molly does no such thing, instead sticking his tongue out at Beau through a grin and marching out the front door. Cad thinks for a moment and peruses the mugs and then hands an orange stained one back to Beau's mother with a grin before following Molly out and loading the boxes into Yasha's truck.

Beau cringes on the bottom of the stair, eyes desperate as they fix on Jester and then Fjord.

“Come on.”

“Beau....,” Jester tries, sensing her distress.

“Just forget it,” Beau snaps thickly. “I wanna get out of here.”

Her room is bare. There are no blankets on the bed, curtains torn down. Any posters there might have been are gone from the walls, along with books from shelves. There are faint imprints on the ceiling in the vague outline of stars from those odd, glow in the dark things that seemed to have been a universal kid experience, now scraped completely off. Only boxes are left, and even then, they are maybe half of what Fjord could estimate would be necessary to fill the room back up again.

Beau is trembling, swallowing hard in the threshold of the room. “Wow…wow, fuck. Ok.”

Her voice is a rough rasp, and Fjord thinks the only reason she doesn’t break down entirely is because they are still there, still in this house. They dig silently through the boxes to find what Beau needs and wants, resorting and refilling boxes as they go. Fjord is just trying to figure out how to breach the topic of just how _fucked_ this whole thing is when there is a low muffled voice downstairs, a slam of the front door and then-

“Beauregard!”

“ _Shit._ ”

Beau freezes, that same awful fear that Fjord knows far too well flashing across her face.

“Beauregard,” the man’s voice calls again. “I know you’re up there- come on down.”

The breath that Beau draws is too sharp, too shaky. Jester grabs her hand moments before Fjord does, and their fingers intertwine so tightly the color drains from all of their fingertips. It’s enough to startle out a laugh from Beau, staving off the worst of the panic before it can hit. She stands roughly, awkward and not nearly as graceful as Fjord knows she can be, but he thinks he can forgive her for that, considering.

Beau shakes her hand from theirs before they even reach the top of the stairs, shoulder squaring in that way Fjord’s seen her do before a spar. It’s with a forced casualty that she goes down the stairs, skipping the last step entirely and landing with a soft thump a few feet from her father.

“What’s up?” she says, and it could almost be careless if her syllables weren’t so short.

A muscle twitches in her father’s jaw as his eyes, dark and furious, drift over Fjord and Jester coming behind her, and the group which had all paused in mid-packing and were now watching the scene closely.

“Would you care to explain yourself?” he says lowly, and behind him, Beau’s mother shakes her head ever so slightly.

At first Fjord doesn’t understand, but then he focuses on Beau once more and realizes her entire posture has shifted. Her shoulders are rolled lower, chin dipping down and away. There’s a soft movement by her hip and Fjord glances and sees that she’s stimming, fingers shifting and snapping in soft, sharp motions. Her father realizes it too, if the ever so slight curve of his mouth is any indication, or the way that Beau stops immediately and freezes once again.

She’s not meeting his eyes at all, Fjord realizes, as he crosses from the steps to just off of Beauregard’s side. Instead her eyes are watching his face; the corners of his mouth, the twitching of his jaw. They slip down once, briefly, to skip over the edges of his hands before darting quickly away, and Fjord wants desperately. To grab her away, to step forward, to _act_ ; but this isn’t his.

“Thoreau,” Beauregard’s mother says from behind him.

“Clara.” He says it in the exact same tone she had used, except Beau’s mother winces minutely.

Beau catches it too, judging by the way her brow furrows suddenly, eyes darting sharply from her mother to Thoreau and back.

“She’s only getting a few things,” her mother presses on to say, own eyes hardening as they meet Beau’s. “And then she’ll be gone. Right, Beauregard?”

“Yeah,” Beau says, and whatever odd lull she’d been in fades as she straightens. “So no worries, dad,” she bites it off between her teeth like a curse. “I’ll be out of your way in no time.”

Thoreau’s jaw clenches sharply shut, but Beau is brushing past him now, making for the kitchen that Caleb had just vacated. Her mother follows, and with the tension mostly gone, the rest of the group hastens to get back to work, efforts doubled now. It takes some convincing, but Fjord lets Jester pull him along as Thoreau Lionett shakes his head and exits into a dark room that must be a study of some kind, given the edge of the desk he sees before the door closes sharply. At least he can comfort himself with the fact that they’re almost done packing, and in a few short moments, Beau will have nothing more to do with this place.

He hopes.

* * *

“Really, Beauregard, I just…I can’t believe you,” her mother hisses as soon as the kitchen door swings behind them.

Despite having expected some kind of vitriol, hearing it still makes that lump harden in Beau’s throat.

“Well what else did you fucking want me do?” she snaps back, ignoring the scowl she gets in response. “You still had all my fucking stuff.”

“Language, Beauregard,” her mother says, but it sounds weak in comparison to just how much it all _hurts._ “Did you really have to bring….”

“My family?”

Her mother freezes, then, and Beau would feel triumphant except--

“Yeah, they kind of wouldn’t let me come alone. Can’t imagine why.”

Her mother shakes her head, not even looking at her as she moves to the cabinets that Molly had left open and tidying up what’s left. Beau hesitates, then moves to the opposite cabinet to do the same. It’s through the chipping sounds of ceramic and the deepening pit in her gut that her mother finally speaks.

“Are you going to need anything else? Records, or…anything?”

Shit.

“I don’t know, probably,” she manages, somehow maintaining the same unaffected tone of voice. “I’ll…deal with it when it comes, I guess. Or probably Fjord will- he’s good with that kind of shit.”

“Fjord,” her mother repeats, and there’s something in her voice that Beau doesn’t know if she likes. “He’s the tall one. With the odd streak in his hair?”

It’s not that odd, Beau wants to defend, if only because Fjord wasn’t there to do it himself. She hands her mother an oddly misshapen mug, too flat for proper drinking and only half painted. Her mother pauses, then takes it, a flicker of some emotion too strong for words flashing across her face.

“I still don’t know how you sat still long enough to manage this,” she says, and Beau startles, looking at the mug again.

She’d thought it was something TJ must have done, but now that she’s looking she can barely see the malformed letters of her name, faded into the side. She’d completely forgotten about that art class.

“Yeah,” she says, to fill the weird pain that it brings.

“Hm,” her mother hums, putting the mug on the now empty top shelf, like it’s a place of honor. “And Jester- she’s the blue-haired one?”

Beau is almost certain she doesn’t like the tone of her mother’s voice, but since she still can’t figure out _what it is_ , she just nods numbly.

“Honestly, Beauregard?” her mother exhales, shaking her head slightly. “Two of them?”

For a moment, the air tightens in Beau’s chest. She coughs to cover it up, and the look her mother gives her isn’t disgust, like she’d thought. It’s…lukewarm is the closest Beau can think through the roiling in her gut. The kind of hurt that slips in slowly before you’re even aware of it.

“If you have something to say about it just fucking say it,” she snaps, and her mother’s lips twitch slightly.

She shakes her head again as she turns to the sink, and Beau grabs a towel on instinct and starts drying what she’s handed.

“Don’t let your father find out,” her mother finally says, and Beau tosses the towel down onto the counter.

“No shit,” she replies sharply. “I don’t have a fucking death wish.”

She starts to leave the kitchen, sick of her mother and the shifting emotions and the clawing at the back of her neck. She just wants to get back to Fjord’s- get back _home_.

“Beauregard.”

She stops.

“I’m…glad,” her mother says slowly, not meeting her eyes. “I’m glad that you have them. That you’re getting something…better…out of all this.”

“It wouldn’t have to be better if things were the way they were supposed to here.”

The retort is out of her mouth before she can think better of it, but instead of anger, her mother just nods.

“I know,” she says quietly.

Somehow that just makes it all so much _worse_ , and Beau pushes back out into the living room before her emotions get the better of her. Nott’s hand darts back into her pocket, and Jester hides a giggle behind her hand. Despite everything, Beau feels a slightly smirk drift back across her face, and she almost tells Nott that almost everything in here is actually fake, but Fjord straightens and Jester stiffens suddenly and the hairs on the back of her neck go up.

“Beauregard.”

Fuck.

“What?” she bites out through her teeth.

She sees Jester wince minutely and is grateful she’s got her back to the study so she can’t see the face he must be making.

“A word, before you go.”

Both Fjord and Jester start forward at the same time, and it makes that sharp rush of affection that much stronger.

“This isn’t something that concerns you,” her father says coldly as she turns to face him.

Fjord is just as cold, if far more polite as he answers.

“All due respect, sir, anything you have to say can be said to us as well. Or not at all.”

He shrugs a casual shoulder as he says it, but even Beau knows it’s not a suggestion. She’s facing her father now, so she can see the way his face twitches, his eyes darting sharply to hers and she’s not gonna hear the end of this one.

“Guys, it’s fine,” she says, not dropping eye contact despite every instinct telling her otherwise. “Go start the car or something, I’ll be right out. I have to say bye to TJ anyway.”

She says that last part more to make sure her father knows she’s not budging on it, and behind her she can hear her mother murmur something about going to get him. She can hear the protesting of her group too, but a quick hushed conversation later there’s a slow shuffling of footsteps.

“Lovely home,” Molly drawls as he leaves, and it’s almost worth it just to see the rage flash across her father’s face.

But the front door closes and she’s stepping into her father’s study just as she had so many times before. There’s the sharp sinking of fear in her gut, and she knows that if Dairon were here they would tell her she’s holding her tension too high in her body but she also thinks if Dairon were here her father would be on his ass, so.

“How _dare_ you,” he growls lowly, and she forces her expression into something blank, clenches her fists tight at her sides. “How dare you bring that _parade_ into my home!”

Beau thinks Molly would have taken it as a complement to be called a parade, but she decides not to mention that.

“They have names,” she says instead, and is grateful at least that her voice isn’t shaking as badly as she thought it would.

“And the nerve of that boy,” he continues, ignoring her completely as he starts to pace. “Insinuating that I can’t have a conversation with you. As if he has _any_ right!”

“Well, given your track record I’d say it’s not entirely unfounded,” she mutters, and he turns sharply on her.

“This,” he hisses tightly. “This attitude of yours is exactly the reason why I’m giving you this opportunity to be out on your own—”

“Oh that is such bullshit!” she cuts across, a bitter laughing bubbling up with it. “At least _acknowledge_ what you’re doing. Mom does!” 

“Beauregard.”

“An _opportunity_? Is that what we’re calling it now? Just another fucking business venture- not throwing me out on the curb like I’m not your fucking daughter?”

Her name again, sharper now, but she’s been wanting to say this for too long to stop now.

“Well guess what _dad_? You might not have intended it this way but that _parade_ out there is the best thing to ever happen to me. And unlike you, they love me exactly the way I am so you can take your high and mighty act and shove—”

*Whap!*

The first blow barely registers through her anger. The second one is hard enough to send her to the ground, however, and the anger drains rapidly to make room for the _fear_ , that clawing panic high in her throat because fuck she shouldn’t have him she shouldn’t have this is the part where he—

“Now, I _suggest_ you think before tryin’ that shit again, you understand?”

There are hands on her arms, a high whisper of her name in her ears, and Jester is pulling her to her feet. She blinks, confused, and sees Fjord has her father by the wrist and has backed him, spluttering, against the study table.

“…dare you assault me like this! You…”

There is a slur, half formed and vicious, and Beau flinches, but Fjord just lifts a cool brow and puts just a little more pressure on his wrist.

“Assault, you say?” he drawls, slow and even as Jester tries to pull Beau towards the door. “You mean just like you did to our Beauregard here?”

She would feel warmth at being called _theirs_ so easily, but there is still fear too sharp in her gut, that familiar throbbing in the side of her face that tells her that’s definitely going to bruise.

“She is my daughter I am well within my right--”

“Your daughter, who you’ve disowned and thrown out of your house so see you lost that the right, if you ever had it to begin with. And believe me, you _didn’t.”_

There is something in Fjord’s voice that Beau doesn’t think she’s ever heard before, and she thinks in any other circumstance she might feel pleased by it but it’s all _too much_. She pulls out of Jester’s grip and in a few steps is at Fjord’s shoulder. It’s…odd…how small her father looks this way. She puts her own hand on Fjord’s shoulder, and his head shifts in her direction but doesn’t pull away.

“Fjord,” she says, voice breaking over the syllables. “Fjord, let him go. Let’s just…let’s just _go._ ”

Jester gives an insistent tug at Beau’s arm, and she hadn’t even realized the other girl had grabbed her again, but this time she lets herself be led. It’s only when she’s at the door that Fjord lets go of her father’s wrist, and not before bending down to whisper something in his ear that makes him go pale. Then he turns and wraps his arms around Beau and shepherds her the rest of the way out the door.

“Beauuuu!” TJ sing songs when he sees her, dancing in her mother’s grip until she’s forced to let him go. He runs to her and she stoops, swinging him up into her arms and above her head. He shrieks, and it’s almost enough to chase away the linger panic in her gut.

“I’m gonna be going, alright buddy,” she murmurs into his curls, glad for the moment to compose herself.

“Go where?” he mumbles, hand in his mouth again when she pulls back.

“I’m…I’m going to be staying with Fjord and Jester,” she explains, shifting her grip so his swinging feet don’t kick her. “But I promise I’ll still be close, and I’ll come visit.”

“Molly too?” TJ asks, his eyes wide and expression a grin of pure hope.

The expression on her mother’s face is worth framing, Beau thinks, but she shakes her head and makes a face at her brother.

“Probably not Molly too, bud. But I’ll visit a bunch, ok?”

“Do you _have to_?” he whines, squirming in her arms. She crouches, and fuck but this is harder than she’d thought. He’s eye level with her now, which makes her tears that much more dangerous.

“I wish I didn’t, buddy,” she admits, swallowing hard. “But I’m gonna be staying with friends and they’ll take real good care of me, alright?”

She knows the implication of her words isn’t lost on anyone in the room, not even TJ, clever little shit that he is. But he just nods reluctantly and wraps his arms around her neck, and she could almost pretend that that’s the reason why she can’t breathe, suddenly.

“Ok,” she chokes out, before she really starts breaking. “Ok, I gotta go, but here.”

She pulls back, and slips the small jade pendant from around her neck and onto his. It hands well to his stomach, but he grips it between his fists and chews pensively on the string.

“So you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” she says, smiling wetly as she lifts him back up. One more kiss to his soft curls, and this time she doesn’t mind that his feet kick her a few times, and then he’s back in her mother’s arms.

Beau is in Fjord’s before she realizes the change, doesn’t even register that they’ve reached the cars. She’s crying, sharp heaving gasps that are muffled, suddenly and thoroughly by a thick, warm jacket. She doesn’t have to look to know it’s Fjord’s, that Jester is pressed against her back. A hand grabs her shoulder and squeezes hard and somewhere to her left she can hear the soft clicking of Molly’s piercings and Caduceus sighs above her head and a gentle had slips into hers and squeezes.

“Come on,” Fjord says softly, lips against the top of her head. “Let’s get you home.”

They turn almost as one, Yasha’s hand falling from hers and Caleb’s grip leaving her shoulder. Molly grins at her, knowing and sly, and Jester laughs as Caduceus flicks the back of his head. Fjord keeps his arm around her the entire drive back, and Jester starts rattling off all the curses she’d kept in her head and Nott displays the one actual-gold figurine she’d managed to swipe from the living room table and _home_.

It couldn’t get any better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you feel it? - Chaos Chaos (formerly Smosh)


End file.
